Nobody Wants a Street Rat!
by Phantom of the Tech Booth
Summary: The Dursleys dump Harry in the slums of London as an infant and he is taken in by a gang called The Lions. Soon he is left alone with only his dog companion, both barely surviving the winter until a group of wizards arrives and takes him to Hogwarts. AU.
1. Welcome Home, Snitch

**Nobody Wants a Street Rat!**

**A/N:** This is my second story on this site, and I hope it'll do well; though I'm not sure how many people are looking for a story like this. I am still continuing my other fic, A Past Experience, so don't worry. I accept flames, any types of reviews, but please be mindful of my age when I started this, which was thirteen years. I'm not an all-knowing-wanna-be-god English professor at a high-ranking college. Thank you, and enjoy.

**Disclaimer for ALL chapters:** Harry Potter and all related characters you may find in my story that can be identified in the Harry Potter series, or any other book written by J.K. Rowling do not belong to me. I am making no money from the publication of this fanfiction, this is purely for the satisfaction and entertainment of myself.

**Warnings: **This story is AU (Alternate Universe), contains violence, foul language, et cetera. You have been warned, if you didn't read this it's your own fault, I will not apologize for your mistake.

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**Chapter One**

Petunia Dursley opened her front door, to put out the milk bottles like any other morning. She looked out first, and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was a brisk fall morning, and she could smell the dead leaves, and see them dancing in the wind across the street in her neighbor's slightly unkempt front yard. She sniffed at the thought of others giving respectable people, such as herself and her family, a bad name by keeping their homes messy and their gardens shabby; while others kept them impeccably clean.

Finally, she looked down, preparing to place the milk bottles on her porch gently. Instead, she screamed upon sight of a little bundle of blue blankets, dropping the bottles and letting them crash to the ground. She looked up and around--checking to see if any of the neighbors were watching her, curious to see what such a proper woman had the nerve to scream about--then picked up the bundle and quickly rushed into the house, leaving the broken mild bottles.

She looked deep into the blankets, and found a pair of startled bright green eyes and messy black hair. She knew those eyes. They were her blasted sister's! Which could only mean...

"VERNON!" Petunia shrieked for her husband. She jumped when she heard the familiar booming voice right behind her.

"I'm right here, dear. What's wrong? Why did you scream?" it said. She turned around, dumping the small child abruptly into his hands. "W-What's this, honey?" he asked nervously barely managing to keep hold of his sudden new burden. Petunia peered into the blankets, though she didn't seem to be looking at the baby boy inside. In fact, she seemed to be looking to something.

"It's a baby, Vernon," she said simply, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Vernon looked like he wanted to say more, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand when she finally found what she was looking for. She pulled out a letter from within the blue blankets. The letter was addressed to her and her husband in bright green ink. She quickly read through the contents, feeling no emotional pain when she heard of her sister's fate. Instead, she looked back at the innocent child, who hadn't made a sound since she saw him, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I knew it!"

"Knew what, dear?" Vernon asked, getting slightly annoyed that he had no idea what was going on.

"It's _her_ child," Petunia spat. "She got herself killed by a lunatic and now _her_ kind are expecting us to take care of it," she said, motioning to the child. "It survived the attack, and somehow he's famous in her world. I will not have one in the house, Vernon. Never. I'm through with that world, I never want to here of it again! Get rid of it!" her voice raised to a near shout and woke her own little boy. She rushed up the stairs, still clutching the letter in her fist, to comfort her child.

"What do you want me to do with it!" Vernon shouted after his wife. When he got no reply he looked down at the boy, who was gazing back at him with brilliant emerald eyes. He looked back at the stairs, where he saw Petunia now standing, holding her large but young son.

"Dump it. Put it in an orphanage. Just get rid of it _now!_" she snapped. His wife rarely snapped at him, so he took that as a warning sign and rushed out of the house, dressed in just a bathrobe and slippers, and climbed into his car.

He set the baby roughly down in the passenger seat, glaring at it as though he was the scum of the Earth. _Freak!_ he thought, as he pulled out of the drive and down the street.

He drove for two hours, but found only full orphanages. The last one he knew of he rang the doorbell and practically begged for a full ten minutes to take the child, after getting the door slammed in his face at the first sight of the baby. He scowled at the innocent being and climbed back into the car, driving for another half hour. He found himself in a not-so-pretty part of London. He stepped out of the car, still in his bathrobe, and took the child to a nearby alley. He looked around, making sure nobody was watching, then dropped the baby on the cold, hard ground. He turned, ran to his car, and drove off quickly.

Harry Potter finally let out a small cry when his body smashed onto the icy, concrete ground. Though it was still early in the morning, it started to rain suddenly, quickly soaking the baby through his once-warm blankets. He whimpered with the cold, when he heard a pair of arguing voices.

"I's a baby, B.G.! We can' jus' leave i' ou' here in the rain and all! It'll freeze t' death!" a little girl's voice said loudly.

"We can' feed it, though! We can barely feed ourselves! Can' we jus' leave it in front of Barb's Diner?" A large male's voice countered.

"No! They hate kids, 'member?" the girl argued.

"Oh, yeah,"

"Stupid oaf," the voice muttered quietly, before moving in Harry's line of vision. "Hey there, lil' one. Wha's yer name?" she asked sweetly. Harry just gurgled. He had always been a quiet child, not as talkative as the other children his age. He could mostly only say certain one-syllabe words, like "Snitch" and "Broom". He rarely cried, especially since the last time he had, a flash of green light killed his mother.

The girl smiled at his antics and lifted the child into her small arms. She looked to be only six or seven years old, but that may be due to the fact that she was too skinny.

"C'mon, B.G. Le's go," she said, and quickly ran into another alley, dodging around garbage bins and corners for a full five minutes, before arriving at her destination. It was an abandoned warehouse.

The front door was boarded up, as well as the back door, so she climbed awkwardly through a broken window, with an ordinary black garbage bag over it to keep the rain out. She lifted the bag over her head and carefully climbed down the broken pieces of old furniture that worked as stairs to and from the window. The large boy of about 15 climbed through next, then sealed the plastic bag over the opening in the wall with a few brickes from the floor when the wind began to howl.

When the girl turned around she was swamped with other people, mostly children, who wanted to look at what she had brought them.

A little boy about her age asked in a high-pitched voice:

"What is it, Cat? What is it?" everybody around her started asking the same question, until a young man with kind brown eyes called for silence, and placed his hand on the girl's, Cat, shoulder. Cat looked up at the man with chocolate brown hair to match his eyes and told him what she had seen.

" - then 'e jus' drove off, an' I couldn' jus' leave the poor kid there!" she said. He nodded and asked his name. "I don' know..." she answered. Another boy, who was about 13 years old, stepped forward.

"'e don' 'ave a name?" he said, with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

"'Course 'e got a name, dimwit, we jus' don' know it! We gotta figure ou' a new one for 'im!" another girl his age said, rolling her eyes.

"How about...Lightning? He's got a lightnin' bolt shaped scar thingy on his for'ead!" the boy said, peering closer at the baby.

"I wonder where 'e got that...?" the girl his age said curiously.

"'ho cares? We gotta think of a name!" somebody said.

"Jet?" somebody suggested. "'e's go' jet black hair!"

"I like Light..." a small girl shyly suggested. She was slightly older than Cat, about eight. A number of people agreed with her.

"Jet!" the boy protested.

"Light!" somebody argue.

"Jet!"

"Light!" Soon, a huge argument broke out over what the boy's name would be. Harry looked up at Cat, who hadn't said anything since she explained that she didn't know his name.

"Bolt!" somebody else said loudly. Many people liked this name better, but still others remained loyal to the name Jet.

Cat smiled sweetly down at the baby boy, then sat on the floor, unable to hold the boy and herself up any longer, due to her youth. The baby smiled shyly back at her, and cocked his head to the side, trying to decide what to make of her. She wore old rags for clothing, and her hair was greasy and unbrushed. Suddenly, the shouting over what his name would be caught his attention. He loved to be a part of things, and seemed to make people laugh when he did, which he enjoyed, so he thought of a way he could join in on the shouting match.

"Snitch," he whispered. Nobody else but Cat, who was now looking curiously down at him, seemed to notice. "Snitch," he tried again, a bit louder. Still, nobody but Cat heard. Cat looked up, relizing the boy wanted to tell everybody something.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Cat screamed over the yelling. Everybody immediately hushed. Cat was young, but could get particularly nasty when something (or someone) set her off. "'e wants t' say somethin'!" she said, looking back down at Harry.

"Snitch!" Harry yelled, before realizing he didn't have to, as the whole room was focused on him.

"Snitch!" the young man with brown hair and brown eyes said, bewildered. cat beamed down at the baby.

"Snitch. His name is Snitch," she said firmly, before standing up and making her way into another room, the others still silent.

She set Harry down on the slightly rotted out wood and began sorting through a pile of rags. Soon she had made another pile from the original one, though this one was slightly smaller. She grabbed Harry, separated him from his soaked blankets, and set him down of the pile, covering him with more rags. She hung his blanket over the back of a three legged wobbly chair, and lay down in the pile beside him.

"Welcome home, Snitch!" she said, tucking him into what he now recognised as his new "bed". He blinked, smiled lightly at her, then closed his eyes. He was exhausted already, even though it was only noon, and fell asleep quickly, staying that way for several hours.


	2. Growing Up

**Chapter Two: Growing Up**

_Five Years Later..._

Snitch, dug through the garbage dumpster outside Barb's Diner. The smell was horrible, but worth it when he found his reward. Two pieces of unfinished french toast inside a damp, cardboard container. Snitch smiled in triumph and stood up, clinging to the walls of the giant trash holder for fear of being sucked into the smelly mass.

Snitch tucked the box into his rags, or what he considered a shirt, and reached up to the edges of the bin. With strength that one would not believe a small, skinny, greasy-haired young child would posses, he pulled himself up and out of the dumpster, and dropped lightly to the dirty ground of alley.

Snitch grabbed his prize once more and fled back to the warehouse. Or "The House" as they called it.

Snitch belonged to a certain group of street-kids who used nick-names instead of their real names. There was Cat, who had narrow yellow eyes, like a cat's. Then there was B.G., but nobody remembered why he was called that. He was 20 while Cat was about 12-years-old.

There was once a man named Mark who lived with them, but he was killed in a gang-war three years ago. He was the only one without a nickname. Gumbi was an 18-year-old boy who was abnormally flexible, and Zilly was his best friend. She was also 18 and named Zilly because they said she resembled Godzilla when she got angry.

Mac was a boy closest to Snitch's age, though nobody knew just how old Snitch was. Mac was eight-years-old, but still a good five or six inches taller than Snitch. They called him Mac because he loved McDonald's. As soon as he saved up enough money, he went and bought himself a BigMac.

Finally, there was Mouse. Mouse was a small 14-year-old who was as quiet as, well, a mouse. He never spoke to anyone but Snitch, but even then very rarely. Mouse had dirty, brown hair (of course, all of the street kids' hair was dirty. They never took showers.) and, if you cleaned the dirt and grime off, you could possibly see a light tan from being outside all day long. Mouse got sick very often. Not just allergies, though. He seemed to get the flu every other week.

These seven kids, including Snitch, belonged to a street gang called the Lions. They weren't like the thugs stereotypers think of when "street gang" is mentioned. No, they were gentle...unless you picked a fight with them. If you messed with one, you messed with all. They were a family. Most other gangs were different. It was survival of the fittest with the other gangs. But the Lions discovered that if they stuck together as one, they had a better chance at survival.

The Lions didn't pick fights. They fought in defense only.

Snitch ran to The House, an old abandoned warehouse, and climbed through the broken window. Cat, Zilly, Mac, Mouse, and Gumbi ran to the small child as he held up his box of half-eaten french toast pieces like a trophie.

"What'd you get, Snitch?" Cat asked him.

Instead of answering verbally, Snitch opened the box and let the children peer inside. Mac gasped and immeadiately reached forward to snatch the food, but Zilly slapped his hand away.

"This is for _all_ of us, pig!" Zilly said. She pulled the food out of the soggy box and started to divide it into seven small portions. She gave the smallest to Mac, who stuck his tongue out at her when she had her back turned.

They ate their pieces and saved the remaining piece for B.G., who was working at an auto-shop to earn a bit of money for the group. Zilly and Mac also had jobs at places that didn't require a high-school diploma. The others were too young to get a job, and in Snitch's case, uneducated.

Snitch pulled a small corner off of his piece of food and slipped it to Mac, who nodded appreciatively and devoured the piece hungrily. Snitch smirked and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation, lest Zilly find out what had occured.

Later that day, after B.G. came back from work, they were all sitting on their "beds" when a boy of about 15 stumbled through the window and started calling for help. They ran into the room with the plastic-covered window and skidded to a halt.

"Help, please!" the boy said. He was short (as were many street-kids due to malnourishment), had dark, dirty brown hair, and was out of breath, as if he ran a great distance. A look of panic was plastered on his face.

"Wha's wrong?" B.G. asked. Snitch recognized the boy from a fellow gang on the streets. He was from the Hawkes, another gang like the Lions that only fought in defense. The Lions and the Hawkes never fought each other, they were brother gangs. They helped one another out.

"The Dragons! They ambushed us! We're out-numbered 100 to one!" the boy gasped. "I ran ou' to get help. It don' look good!"

The Dragons were a very aggressive gang. Many people belonged to it, about 30, but they were rarely all together. They picked death-fights with other gangs just for the thrill. In death fights, you don't stop fighting until either you or your opponent was dead. Sometimes they lasted for hours, sometimes just a few, short minutes. The rough teenagers in the Dragons were sick, disturbing people. They killed for the fun of it.

They were true murderers.

And the Lions were about to face them in battle.


	3. Lions & Hawkes Vs Dragons

**Chapter Three: Lions & Hawkes Vs. Dragons**

If anybody was stupid enough to be on the dirty and wet street when the gangs met, they would've taken a gun and committed suicide.

Blood was everywhere. Knives glinted in the setting sun, and the dimming light cast odd shadows all around. The shadows were both friend and foe. It was easy to hide and sneak up on an unsuspecting opponent, but also easy to be said unsuspecting victim.

The Lions and Hawkes were galantly fighting for their lives, but losing quickly. The Dragons had finally come together, this time to take out the two "nursery" gangs. In their opinion, the Lions and Hawkes were wimps and gave the other gangs a bad reputation. Aparently, the other gangs liked being stereotyped as "thugs" and worked towards keeping that terrible definition in place. But with the Lions and Hawkes only fighting for defense and watching out for each other, it made it difficult to do so.

The Dragons had grown in population since the last time they were seen all together. Now, they had at least 40 members, all large and towering teenagers or young fit (or as fit as you could be living on the streets) adults. Everybody on the streets owned some type of weapon. Usually a knife or switchblade. But the unspoken rule on the streets was that when in a gang-war or death-fight, using a gun is off-limits.

Using a semi-automatic weapon, such as a gun, was like cheating on a major exam. It showed that you weren't strong enough to fight your own battles, but had to use a bullet to win. It showed weakness.

Yet, very rarely, somebody broke the unspoken rule.

Snitch twisted his young thin body around and threw his leg out. He bent his other knee down a little so he was eye-level with his opponent's, a tall, skinny (like everybody) 15-year-old with a three inch knife in his right hand, waist. Snitch hooked his foot around the boy's knee and pulled toward himself. The effect was the same as if he had kicked the boy's knee from behind. The teenager crumpled to the ground, his knee crashing into the cracked concrete harshly and a sick sound was heard when the unhealthy boy's weak bone shattered into pieces.

Snitch's face remained emotionless. The six-year-old quickly leaped upon his opponent's back and jammed his thumb in the sensitive spot below the boy's ear. When hit hard enough and in the correct place, the victim would fall unconscious from the sudden painful action. Which is exactly what happened. The boy stopped gasping for breath from the pain-filled knee, and lay limp on the road.

Snitch quickly moved on. The action worked on everybody he faced everytime. But only for an hour or so. With the boy's added injury, it would be a good two hours before he woke up again. But then again, the fight could last until morning.

Any person with a good home and a not-so-hostile community would wonder why the police were not called. That was simple. Nobody in that part of the city had any phones (they didn't have any use for one, and they couldn't afford one), and those who did own a phone were warned by the street urchines not to use it in case of a street fight, for they would know it was them that called.

Snitch was a witty, quick, and tricky fighter. He had no technique but to listen to his instincts and let his body carry him through the fights. Nobody knew what to expect from him. Nobody would believe that a six-year-old (though nobody knew his exact age) could be one of the most dangerous and deadly fighters in the slums of London.

Until they saw him fight.

The youth was quick on his feet, and all one could see is a blur when faced with this child in battle. The boy was a natural fighter. His eyes caught every movement made by his opponent, from small muscle twitches that would warn him of an aproaching attack, to a punch flying through the air towards his stomach.

He was nothing short of a miracle.

Or disaster if you were his opponent.

The battle wore on late into the night, until bloody and mangled bodies littered the blood-soaked street. Unsurprisingly, Snitch was among the few left. But he paid no attention to the number of opponents, just the one he was facing. A large (at least to Snitch), but quick, man with a long six-inch switchblade.

Snitch grabbed a conveniently place stick sitting on the ground and twirled around, faking a kick with his left leg. When the man jumped to the right to avoid the fast and most certainly painful, kick, Snitch gripped the stick hard near the end furthest from himself and thrust it into the man's side. It barely punctured the skin, but it gave the man enough of a shock to be poked with a stick below his ribs to grab his side in reflex.

Which is exactly what Snitch wanted him to do.

The small boy grabbed the man's head when he bent down to grab his ribs as if he had been injured, caught a handful of greasey black locks, and pulled forward. The man stumbled at the sudden movement and met the same fate as the 15-year-old boy Snitch fought hours before.

Snitch jammed the stick below the man's ear, rendering him unconscious.

He looked around for his next opponent, but saw something that made his blood freeze.

Another man, probably in his late teens, was fighting with Gumbi, the 18-year-old boy belonging to the Lions. The teen was losing quickly to Gumbi and looked desperate. His face screwed up in pain when Gumbi gave him a swift kick in the stomach. Then his face contorted with anger. He did not like to lose fights. It was rather embaressing. And if he didn't win this one, he wouldn't live to even be embaressed. So he broked the rules.

He pulled out a gun, and a shot rang out into the now silent night.

Gumbi first stood in shock. He looked down and saw blood gushing out of his chest, and suddenly felt the hot bullet lodged in his heart. The pain barely started to come when his heart stopped and he crumpled to the ground.

Dead.

Snitch's friend, one of his big brothers, was just killed right in front of his eyes.


	4. A Life For A Life

**Chapter Four: A Life For A Life**

_Gumbi first stood in shock. He looked down and saw blood gushing out of his chest, and suddenly felt the hot bullet lodged in his heart. The pain barely started to come when his heart stopped and he crumpled to the ground._

_Dead._

_Snitch's friend, one of his big brother's, was just killed right in front of his eyes._

Time seemed to stand still as Gumbi fell to the ground in a bloody heap. His teenage opponent stood above his body, gun in hand and still pointing to where Gumbi previously stood. The barrell of the gun was smoking.

The night was still and silent as everybody stared at the boys. Then a strangled cry rang out and a dark blur tackled the killer to the blood-soaked ground.

Snitch didn't care that the teenager still had a gun in his hand. All he cared about was making this boy pay dearly for what he took away from him.

A life for a life.

As the two struggled on the ground, the others continued staring in shock or using this time to their advantage and tending to their various wounds.

Snitch's victim was in a storm of flailing limbs. Punches, kicks, scratches, and slaps rained down upon him while the child's screams of fury pierced the cool November night.

But the teenager was much bigger than the tiny six-year-old on top of him. He soon rolled out from under the grief-stricken child and stood to his feet. The gun was still in his hand and he acted out of pure survival instinct when he pulled the trigger for a second time that night.

Burning pain erupted in Snitch's back leg, behind his knee. The young boy clutched his knee in agony while the killer took aim again, this time at Snitch's heart.

Through the excruciating pain, Snitch had but one thought running through his mind: _I don't care what happens to me; that boy _must_ die!_

As the teen pulled the trigger yet again, an indescribable power surged through Snitch and an amazing thing happened:

The gun exploded.

The teenager's arm was instantly blown apart, and the bullet that was meant for Snitch tore through his chest. The right side of his body was burnt and bloody, the skin hanging off in strips. The mangled mess that was once a living being fell to the ground with a sickening splash in the puddle of his own blood beneath him.

Once again Snitch pounced upon the young man, beating every inch he could reach, while the other street urchins looked on in astonishment and fear.

His world went black as a river of blood pumped out of his wounded leg.

_The sound of the bullet being kicked into movement caught his attention. The bullet raced towards him at an alarming speed. It was getting closer. If he didn't move, he'd be hit. As it came closer he could hear the rushing, thundering sound of death come with it._

_He was going to die._

_Green light flooded his vision, and he could no longer see the bullet. But he knew where it was. A high-pitched cackle rose from far away as a woman's screams of terror pounded against his eardrums._

_His body stood frozen as the bullet met it's mark, and pain flared up in his knee like fire...the fire was consuming him, drowning him...he couldn't move, couldn't breathe...the woman's screams were lost in the loud _crack _heard above him, like a tree falling to the ground..._

Snitch awoke with a start to the crack of thunder and yelped in pain. He grabbed his throbbing leg as he struggled to sit up. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight back the tears as stabbing pain hit his knee in waves. He fell back against the ground, gasping for breath.

He felt rather than saw somebody kneel down beside him and stroke his hair lovingly. He didn't even have to open his watery eyes to know it was Cat, the twelve-year-old girl that took him in when he was abandoned. She was like a mother to him. She was kind and caring, and scolded Snitch when he needed it.

But now she simply stared down at him with tear-filled eyes, a sad smile across her lips.

Despite his effort, Snitch lost his battle to keep the tears of pain in. The salty tears ran down his cheeks and onto the pile of rags beneath him. He bit his lip to keep from screaming in agony, and as a result a thin trail of blood followed the tears.

Cat gently wiped the blood away with the sleeve of her thin shirt. She tried to blink away her own tears, but they refused to disappear. To see her little boy in such pain broke her heart. She wished it was her in pain instead of him. It wasn't fair that the only thing hurting her was a sprained wrist she recieved from the deadly battle a week ago, while Snitch's knee had a bullet in it.

It felt as though a tennis ball was lodged in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. The lump was making it hard to breathe.

The thunderstorm raged war against the earth outside. Hail and rain beat against the roof of the warehouse in a deafening roar.

Finally, Snitch blinked his eyes open, took a deep breath, and looked around at his surrounding. They were at The House, the abandoned warehouse that they called home. Looking around, he saw Mac and Mouse on the ground not far from him. Mouse was pale, probably sick from the rain.

Mac was clutching his side with a bloody cloth, groaning in pain. An acrid stench in the room turn Snitch's stomach. He wondered briefly what it could possibly be when Mac sat up slightly and vomited in the beat-up bucket beside him. Blood and spittle dripped slowly from his mouth as he groaned agian. That was where that horrible odor was coming from.

Zilly, Gumbi's 18-year-old best friend, sat beside Mac and wiped the fluid from his mouth when he laid back. Snitch looked around. Two people were missing...they had Cat, Zilly, Mac, Mouse...B.G. was missing. B.G. and...

Gumbi.

Snitch's stomach dropped as he remembered what had happened that night.

Gumbi was dead.

The tears rolled down at a more rapid rate now. His pale cheeks were now soaked as Cat stroked his hair at a more hurried and determined pace, as though she knew what he had discovered.

It took a full ten minutes for Snitch to compose himself enough to ask the question burning in his mind.

"W-Where's B.G.?" he croaked. Zilly looked up, realizing that Snitch had awoken, and quickly ducked back down, hiding her own tears.

Cat swallowed again, and stared straight ahead, avoiding Snitch's eyes as she spoke the words Snitch feared the most:

"He's dead," she said shortly. Snitch visibly deflated. He seemed to fold within himself as Cat removed her hand from his hair and discretely wiped her eyes.

Snitch didn't even notice the pain in his leg as he stared up at the ceiling, crying silently.

He hadn't cried since a red-haired woman was taken from him in a flash of green light and cackling laughter...


	5. Miserable Emerald Eyes

**Chapter Five**

As the days went by Snitch continued to withdrawl into himself. With each passing minute he began to lose touch with reality and instead lived in a world where everything was perfect: no fighting, no death, no pain, no illness; nothing but peace, his family, and all the food he could eat.

In the real world Cat looked down at the child staring off into space with blank eyes. Eyes that once held the joy that kept their family together, that kept everybody pushing on for a better life. But now there was nothing. Not a twinkle. Not a flash of emotion sparked the dull green eyes. Cat couldn't help but cry silently with every glance into her little boy's eyes.

Zilly, Gumbi's best friend, was quiet and reserved and spent her time distracting herself by taking care of Mouse (who had not yet recovered from his illness acquired on the day of the battle) and Mac (who had a deep wound from a switchblade and for once refused to eat as his nauseous stomach left him retching all over the place), and working at a nearby restaurant to replace B.G's paycheck that gave the large group a small bit of hope for a better life in the future.

But not for Snitch. For Snitch there was no hope. For Snitch everything was lost. He had lost two of the brothers he looked up to. He had lost his friends. He was just a little child and he wanted to die. He had given up any hope for a better life. Snitch had been the light of their dark lives, bringing happiness and as much innocence as possible for the street urchins that saw death at every corner.

A tear dripped from Cat's eye and onto Snitch's cheek. He blinked. Miserable emerald eyes gazed up at the young woman he had come to know as his mother. Cat smiled sadly and stroked his hair.

"Hey, scruffy," she said softly. "How're ya doin'?" She knew it was a stupid question. But she couldn't think of anything else to say. She sighed when Snitch closed his eyes and grimaced. "Can ya move yer leg fer me? Bend it back an' forth like we did yesterday..." She helped him to sit up and lean back against her chest as he struggled to work the wounded joint. As Snitch regained some physical strength Cat had him exercise the knee so he wouldn't lose his ability to walk. It wasn't as if they could just call up the hospital and leave Snitch to them. They would take him away. Snitch didn't want that. Nobody did.

Snitch gritted his teeth as pain flared up in his knee. The bullet was still inside, but the skin had healed over slightly as the days continued. Snitch was always a fast healer. He almost never got sick despite his unhealthy disposition, and cuts, scrapes, and bruises lasted a fraction of the time it took to heal for anybody else. But even with the quick healing already done, just the effort of bending the knee kept him and Cat in despair.

Cat didn't know what to do. Snitch needed to learn to walk again. He couldn't be taken care of like an infant for the rest of his life. And how long would the rest of his life be if something happened to the gang or to the hideout? There was simply no way he would survive if he couldn't defend himself from an attack on their home. Cat couldn't lose her little boy! Not after this! She would die without Snitch! But it seemed Snitch was already gone. The only emotion that showed through his thick shell of emotionless-solitude was pain, and she didn't want to have to put him through this agony if only to see a bit of life come through.

Snitch finally bent his knee as far as it would go and started the process of moving it forward. His muscles tensed and the veins in his neck potruded slightly as he worked. He nearly vomited when he felt the bullet move slightly. This happened every time he practiced this exercise, but he never could get over the disgusting and quite disturbing feeling. He felt Cat massage his thin shoulders comfortingly as he straightened the leg back into place and lied down, exhausted. Cat moved her hands to his temples and worked to relieve his pounding headache.

Cat sat deep in thought long after Snitch had drifted off to sleep. Finally she came to a decision. Getting up and moving towards the exit of the warehouse she called back quietly to Zilly.

"I'll be back in two hours," she declared. She crawled out of the building and made her way stealthily through the streets and alleyways. She knew her goal, but she needed to know where to find it.


	6. Teach Me to Pray

**Chapter Six**

Cat sprinted quite like a feline as she raced towards her destination. She didn't know exactly where it was, but she knew it must be in a slightly better looking part of London. After all, the less desirable street urchins of her part would likely have burned it down. But it had to exist...she needed it to exist.

For what seemed like an eternity she searched, until she saw the steeple rise high in the sky of the poluted city air.

The church.

She practically flew up the steps of the old stone building, plunging inside and not bothering to shut the door behind her. She had to do this before she lost her nerve.

It looked much like a classic Christian church like the old ones in the movies (not that she had ever seen a movie). She faced three large stained glass windows on the opposite end of the church. The middle bore the depiction of Jesus Christ nailed to the wooden cross. Another window of Virgin Mary, and the last of men bowing down with their hands clasped, looking up at Christ.

Rows of plain wooden benches faced these windows and a podium for the priest. Before the podium stood a small, elegant table that held a polished wooden cross with two lit candles on either side.

Cat furrowed her brow. It was a Friday afternoon. Why would anybody come to light the candles?

Then she noticed a plump woman with two young children, a boy and a girl, kneeling at the shiny cross and candles. Their clothes were homemade, and all three had flaming red hair. She hesitated. The woman was obviously praying while the children sat on the ground, bored. But Cat had to do what she had come for. She had no other choice.

She walked shakily forward and knelt to the left of the woman while her children craned their necks curiously over their distracted mother to get a look at Cat. The red-haired woman didn't look up, but kept her head bowed and her brow furrowed in concentration.

Cat placed her hands on her knees and looked up at the cross that was now above her. She took a deep breath. She had never done this before. She had never _prayed_. And she was unsure of how to go about it. Could God hear her in her head? But that wasn't possible, was it? She had seen pictures of small children kneeling at the edge of a warm bed, with their hands together and elbows resting on the mattress. But there were no beds around. So she looked once more at the woman, prepared to copy her body alignment, and jumped.

"Hello, child," the squat little woman said gently, looking at her with kind brown eyes. "Do you come here often?"

Her eyes took in Cat's ragged appearence: ripped, torn, frighteningly dirty clothes hung loosely on her frail frame. Long greasy dirty-blonde hair reached the middle of her back, and her skin was stretched tight on her starving body. Her shoes were in a pitiful state. It didn't take more than half a brain to know that she was living on the streets.

Cat nervously shook her head.

"N-No, ma'am...n-never..." She wasn't used to speaking to adults outside her family. This woman most definitely had a home, though she wasn't wealthy by the looks of her clothes.

"My son, Charlie, is very sick," the woman whispered, taking her eyes off Cat and gazing wonderingly at the cross. "I don't know what else to do but leave it to God. I don't normally do this sort of thing..." her worried voice trailed off, and she turned questioningly back to Cat.

When she looked back, Cat wouldn't know what came over her. The woman's eyes were so caring, so inviting. So _understanding_. Before she had a chance to stop herself, her problems were spilling forth along with a wave of tears.

"My li'l brother is hurt so badly...'e might not make it. 'e's sad 'cause two of our big brothers, B.G. and Gumbi, they died the other day, see? An' now Mouse is sick and hurt, Mac's been throwin' up ever'where! Mac's was hurt with a knife.

"We're outta food and it's gettin' cold, an' we don' got enough blankets! With them hurt like that they won' survive the win'er! Snitch, my li'l brother, 'e won' talk, 'e can' move 'cause he's hurt in the leg, and without his leg 'e'll die! I can' stand to lose another! I don' know what ta do!

"I heard this God has powers...he can heal Snitch! And the others, too! We need a miracle, an' fast."

Tears rolled down the woman's cheeks. This poor child had so much pain and misery pooring from her heart. She needed to help the poor dear. But how?

"Can ya teach me to pray, ma'am?" Cat was saying, dictating the words carefully as if to prove to her companion that she wasn't stupid, and would be easy to teach.

The woman smiled down at her kindly.

"Of course, dearie."

Cat walked silently to the warehouse they called home. She was lost in thought.

The woman, Molly Weasley she said her name was, told her to come back the next day at the same time. She gave her an old watch so she could tell the time. Cat promised to give it back when she was done with it, but Mrs. Weasley just smiled and shook her head gently, telling her to keep it.

Cat wasn't stupid. She didn't refuse the gift. It would be useful later. Maybe she could sell it? But where? Anywhere she went would just try to rip her off.

She shook her head of these distracting thoughts and continued on her previous line of thought.

What could Mrs. Weasley possibly want to meet with her for? Cat was nothing but a street rat. A dirty little urchin from the bad part of London. Normally Cat wouldn't consider trusting anybody to meet at a designated place at a designated time. But there was something about that woman. Her kind, motherly eyes. Cat had never known her mother...

Once again she shook her head clear of distracting thoughts.

Whatever the reason, Cat vowed to meet the loving woman.

Maybe this was the miracle the woman had helped her to pray for. She would never know unless she went to meet her. And how could she refuse after the nice watch Mrs. Weasley had given to her?

Cat walked into the warehouse (or as the Lions simply called it: The House) after picking up two half-eaten cheeseburgers in a trash can outside Barb's Diner. She handed one to Zilly and kept one for herself and Snitch. She ate half of the cold food, and saved the rest in a little draw-string pouch for Snitch.

Then she waited for tomorrow to come.


	7. Oreo Part I

**Chapter Seven: Oreo Part I**

Cat blearily opened her crusty eyes and looked at the face of the watch Mrs. Weasley had given her. She gasped. It was already nine o'clock in the morning! What if the motherly woman had already come and gone from the church? Cat gently extracted herself from underneath Snitch (she had been holding him protectively against her chest) and tip-toed across the dank room. Zilly had already left for work, and Snitch, Mac, and Mouse were pathologically exhausted, and continued sleeping the hours away.

Cat slipped out the broken window that served as their entrance and ran as fast as her skinny legs could take her. Her natural street-sense of direction took her to the church without a problem and she skidded to a halt right outside the doors. She took a moment to regain her breath and straighten the ruffled rags she called clothes. She took a slow nerve-gathering breath and grabbed the iron antique handle of the old church.

Inside the church was just as it was yesterday but the candles were not lit. This immediately dampened her meek hopes. The little girl visibly deflated in disappointment and started to turn back to return to her family's aid when a flash of red caught her sad eyes. She turned back hopefully and squealed in delight when she saw the gently smiling face of Molly Weasley sitting awkwardly on a bench to see her.

"Ya came!" Cat said disbelievingly. Without thinking she rushed down the isle and jumped unceremoniously into the woman's plump arms. Molly, surprised but pleased, wrapped her arms around the youth warmly. Soon Cat realized the stupidity of her actions and squirmed free of the embrace. Molly looked at her with pity and understanding. Cat blushed profusely and looked away to hide her embarrassment. She forgot all about it when her eye caught a sight she hard only ever dreamed of.

A huge pile of crocheted blankets sat beside Molly. Cat's breath escaped her at the treasure before her.

Molly gently took her young calloused hand and placed it upon the glorious reward. "I want you and your family to take these and be safe for the winter, you hear?" Cat nodded numbly, weakly scrunching up the soft material in her hand. Her eyes filled up with relieved tears and her vision blurred. As the first tears spilled over she turned her head away and wiped them with her dirty sleeve. Her other hand never left the comforting feeling of the warm blankets.

Seconds passed and Cat finally pulled herself together. She stood up straight and threw her shoulders back, trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left. She gave a large sniff and cleared her throat of the thick mucus that had developed there during her teary moment. Molly kindly looked away at this point, so Cat wouldn't feel so embarrassed.

They both gave quiet sighs in the passing moment of silence, and finally Molly stood.

"Well, deary, I suppose we should get these to your family. Lead the way?" it wasn't a question, it was a request.

Cat normally would have been hesitant to show someone the way to her home, but this woman was a Normy, that is, she wasn't from the streets. There was no way she could find her way to and from Cat's home the very first time she was shown.

But now Cat was more hesitant of the danger Molly was so willingly and possibly unknowingly about to walk into. Cat and her family lived in a very dangerous part of the city, and if they were to be attacked Cat wasn't sure if she could defend Molly and herself before the large woman was hurt - or worse.

Cat had to warn this nice lady of the danger. She couldn't stand it if Molly was hurt trying to help the Lions. It would be Cat's own fault for not warning her! But what if once she realized the danger, Molly would not help them? Cat was too little to carry the huge mass of blankets by herself, she wouldn't be able to see over the top of the pile. And where she lived, you needed to see all around you to stay alive. Cat took a deep breath. She couldn't have Molly killed because of her selfish needs. This woman was a mother of at least three, for goodness's sake! Cat couldn't and wouldn't take away their mother just because she feared abandonment.

"Mrs. Weasley…" she started.

"Yes, child?"

"There's somethin' you should know 'bout where I live…" Cat looked down and wrung her hands nervously.

"And what's that, m'dear?"

"Well…it's pretty dang'rous, ya see…and da people down there are…violent…and people get hurt ever'day and sometimes day get…killed…" Cat's voice trailed off uncertainly. She closed her eyes and waited for the worst, but hoped for the best.

She was surprised when she felt a warm, pudgy hand gently touch her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked up into Molly's kind and understanding face.

"I know, child. I know. We'll be careful, okay? And if something were to happen, don't you fret for a moment. I can take care of myself, and I know you can take care of yourself just fine. We'll be alright." Molly stood and hefted the load of blankets into her arms. "Well, let's go!" and she marched right out of the church with a dumbstruck Cat (no pun intended) trailing behind her.


	8. Oreo Part II

**Chapter Eight: Oreo, Part II**

Behind the thick wall of woolen blankets, Molly Weasley gasped for air. Cat, while young and definitely not healthy, was amazingly agile and Mrs. Weasley, a mother of seven and a with hearty appetite, was not.

Cat darted to and fro, skittering down alleys and hopping over junk as easily as beating down a Normy. (Not that she would ever do that, the poor dear would be traumatized for life!) While Molly clambered about like a fish on legs over and around the odorous piles of trash and whatnot. She entertained thoughts of ordering the Ministry of Magic to send out professional cleaning crews to whip these streets and it's inhabitants into tip-top states of cleanliness.

Molly watched Cat as the child looked all around her, taking in everything that might possibly hold a danger for her or her companion. But Cat needn't have worried for Molly: if the situation called for life-saving defense, by all means Molly Weasley would wave her wand as crazily as Mad-Eye Moody himself. She had a family to take care of! Actually, two families for the time being, she reminded herself with a glance downwards at the towering pile of blankets she had made herself. She had made three just last night after hearing Cat's desperate story, and the others she had simply found about the house. She had even taken a few from her own children's beds. But no matter. They had the benefit of a loving home and family, and Molly would make other blankets for them of course.

A large homemade satchel hung from her shoulder and bounced on her legs as she walked quickly after Cat. It was weighed down with a few medicines and creams, some of them Muggle, some of them her own creation, and some of them could be found on any potion shop in Europe. She didn't know which ones she would need to help the Cat's family so she took her entire medicine cabinet. Literally. Her husband, Arthur, had gotten quite a shock when he walked in to find Molly had ripped the cabinet off of the wall above the bathroom sink and was pouring all of it's contents into her bag, muttering something about poor dears who were hurt, cold, and starving. Arthur knew better than to question his wife on her antics just then so he settled for quirking an eyebrow and calmly directing his children to the outhouse to give Molly some privacy in her moment of possible-insanity.

Molly, of course, didn't give a damn whether her family thought she was a normal, loving mother or a down-right lunatic. She would help Cat's family if it was the last thing she did.

But hopefully it wouldn't be the last thing she ever did. That's why she carried her wand up her sleeve.

She was pulled sharply out of her thoughts by a small voice calling her name. She looked up and whipped around. The voice was behind her. Cat was on the ground, halfway through a large basement window of an old crumbling warehouse. While lost in her thoughts Molly hadn't noticed Cat stop and get down on her knees. She had walked right on passed, a dangerous thing to do. She mentally berated herself for her stupidity and dropped the blankets by the window. Once Cat was safely through, Molly handed the pile down to her. Then she somehow managed to squeeze herself through the window bottom first, her satchel dragging behind her and finally dropping down with her as she fell to a stained and tarnished hardwood floor. She looked around.

Plain off-white, stained, beaten-in walls surrounded her. The room was completely empty except for a bare light bulb dangling from the hole-littered ceiling.

Cat led Molly through a doorway and two steps down a hall, where she opened a plain brown door hanging on the bottom set of hinges to reveal another room. This one was just as plain-walled at the last, with an identical light source.

But this room was not empty.

Molly's breath was snatched away at the horrific sight before her. Three piles of rags that curiously moved gently up and down, and then she realized these rags were _children_. Two against the wall on her left, one against the wall in front of her. The remaining wall, to her right, held an assortment of old crusty newspapers stained with a rust-colored _something_. It also held a worn-out tin bucket filled to the brim with slimy, smelly, and chunky bits of goo. She turned away from the mess when she saw that it was obviously the regurgitation products of the children.

Weak little moans came from the two on her left, but the one in front was silent as a grave.

A young woman was tending to the two moaning, while Cat gently stroked the head of the silent child she could not yet see on the piles of rags and rust-colored newspapers around what she presumed to be the child's legs.

Cat had evidently already explained to the young woman what Molly was there for while she was taking in the room. The woman gestured for her to come over to the two she was caring for while Cat whispered softly to her charge.

"I'm Zilly," she said shortly but softly.

"Molly," the red-haired woman replied in an equally soft voice.

"These two 're sick as dogs," Zilly explained, patting with a dirty wet rag the face of one of the children. The child drew in a rattling breath and coughed roughly. "He's Mouse, he don't talk. 'e got 'imself sick again, but 'e ain't getting' better." Zilly patted the coughing child's face with the rag again. The other child moaned ever so quietly and clutched his stomach. "An' dis is Mac. 'e got knifed in the belly, an' he's been throwin' up blood and goo ev'a since. 'e can't eat nothin'."

Molly's eyes filled up with tears as she looked from one face to the other. These were little _children!_ Every child deserved a loving home and a real family to take care of them. These children were lying on a pile of ancient and disease-carrying _rags_ and regurgitating their innards in a tin bucket! These children fought for their lives with knives and such! They had no medicine or bandages, Molly soon took into account as she realized that the reddish-brown-stained newspapers were actually stained with blood, and Mac was clutching a bit of folded up newspaper to his blood-soaked side. These children didn't have a mother, father, or brothers and sisters!

But as Molly watched Zilly care for Mac and Mouse, and Cat bend down and kiss the cheek of her charge, she realized that just because their family wasn't formed in the traditional sense, they were still a family, and would stick together to the very end.

Molly snapped into mother-mode in an instant. She opened her satchel and rummaged about looking for a tampered Pepper-Up Potion for Mouse. This Pepper-Up Potion would have the same effects, but without the smoke billowing from the ears of the person who took it. That would not do well to explain to these Muggles. Even if they were uneducated, they obviously weren't stupid. She turned to a curious and cautious Zilly.

"This is called 'Pepper-Up'. It cures most illnesses like this," she gestured to Mouse. "It may take several minutes for it to take full effect though."

Zilly nodded and helped Mouse sit up. The poor boy jerked a little and threw his head over another tin bucket Molly hadn't seen sitting beside Zilly, and dry heaved for many painstaking moments. Molly inched forward on her knees and held the potion bottle out to Mouse the moment he stopped. She couldn't stand to see him like this a moment longer. As soon as he drank it, his eyelids snapped open, no longer drooping sickly, and already a bit of color was coming back to his cheeks. Zilly grabbed his shoulders and eased him down gently to rest.

Molly turned to Mac.

Mac had been watching Mouse as he quickly recovered from his illness. He turned anxiously, maybe even eagerly, towards Molly, still clutching the wad of newspapers to his thin but deep wound. The innocent, hopeful expression on his dirty little face would have brought Molly to tears had she not been so determined to help these poor souls.

Molly cajoled Mac to removed the newspapers, and she nearly threw up at the sight of the stab wound. While it wasn't bleeding profusely, tiny rivulets of blood trickled out. Some of it was clotted, but with all the dry heaving and such the boy must have been doing lately, she wasn't surprised to see the wound still open. She took out a jar of homemade pain-killing cream and spread it over the wound. What she had to do next would no doubt knock him unconscious if she didn't numb it first.

She took another jar, this one filled with disinfectant, and a small flat plastic stick. She used one side of the stick to scrape off the crusty, infected scab that covered part of the wound. She pressed a clean cloth to it, and soon the cloth was soaking through with a fresh flow of blood. She quickly cracked open a vial containing a potion that would stop the blood but without clotting it immediately and dribbled it across the wound. It instantly stopped the flow. Then she took the flat, plastic stick and gathered disinfectant cream on the flat end. She spread it on the surface of the wound, and periodically retrieving more cream at the end of the stick she gently and smoothly spread the cream deeper and deeper into the wound, right down into the bottom of it. This no doubt would hurt like hell if she hadn't numbed it first.

Zilly watched in fascination and an everlasting protectiveness for Mac. If Molly did anything Zilly didn't like it would be stopped. Mac, ever a curious boy, lifted his head curiously to see what was being done to his wound. But alas, Molly gently instructed him to lie back down.

Once the wound was clean she did the same process with a healing cream, this time starting at the bottom of the injury and working her way up, as every tissue healed with the help of the cream. So the Muggles wouldn't get too suspicious she left the thinnest layer at the top of the skin to heal on its own. She bandaged it tightly and patted it satisfactorily.

"There you are, m'dear!" she said jovially. "Now, mind you, don't take the bandage off for...let's say...three days. That should be enough time for it to finish up healing. And you might have a scar, I really can't say for sure though..."

Mac instantly sat up and looked at the clean gauze in wonderment. He poked at it curiously, then looked at Molly questionably.

"Why don't it hurt?" he asked.

"I numbed it, child. Otherwise cleaning it and such would have been quite painful!" she answered. At the word 'painful' Zilly glanced sharply at Molly, giving her an intimidation glare. She was obviously extremely protective of the two boys!

"Thanks..." Mac muttered, looking at his wound curiously.

Smiling kindly, Molly put her supplies back into her bag without a word and climbed to her feet, turning to Cat and the pile of rags she was quietly humming a lullaby to. As though she sensed her gaze, Cat looked up and stopped humming. Molly took this as her cue to walk softly across the ancient wooden floor to Cat and her charge. She kneeled down on her knees, gently placing her bag next to her.

Cat pulled back an old, thin, tattered cloth to reveal a young boy, thin as a broom stick, with greasy black hair splattered upon his tiny child-skull. He wore dingy blue-jeans twice his size. A piece of old twine wrapped around his right knee held a wad of yellowing and blood-stained newspapers in place. Molly sighed at the horrid attempt of a bandage, her hand hovered piteously above the obvious injury, but Molly didn't dare touch it.

"What happened?" she whispered instead.

"'e was shot," Cat answered simply. Molly gave her a questioning look. "Ya know, with a gun... Ya do know what a gun is, right?" Cat added incredulously at the oblivious look on Molly's face.

What was a 'gun'? Molly remembered hearing something about in her Muggle Studies class all those years ago at Hogwarts... As Molly continued to stare at the bloody mess of a knee before her, it suddenly came to her.

_Molly listened with rapt attention as her professor went on about the odd and seemingly pointless Muggle contraption. She raised her hand._

_"But, professor, what's the point of a gun? What do Muggles do with it?" she asked. She was horrified at the answer._

_"Oh, did I not say it before? Guns are weapons that Muggles use to kill each other with." _

Kill.

That meant death.

And death was permanent.

Molly looked at the injury again and nearly threw up.

How could a child this young be involved in something like that? Guns lead to murder. Plain and simple. But there could be no plain and simple reason that a child was involved in attempted murder. The poor dear was lucky to be alive!

But as Molly looked up into the boy's vivid green eyes, she realized he wasn't lucky at all. He was breathing and his heart was beating, but those eyes were dead. There was no life behind them. Only an empty shell.

Molly shivered.

"It's still in there...the bullet, I mean," Cat said. Molly was disgusted but hid it.

Cat scooted back several inches to give Molly room to work her magic...literally. Molly nodded in acknowledgment, knowing it was time to get to work. She gently stroked the translucent cheek of the child reassuringly, and as she did so she couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen this child before. She mentally chastised herself, bringing her back to the task at hand. She had to concentrate if she was going to do this right.

She leaned over the wound, carefully shielding Cat's view. It wouldn't do to have a Muggle notice. Molly slid out her wand and weeded it through the mess of newspapers and blood, and straight through a hole in the jeans, until she found the bare skin of the child. She muttered a spell to numb it, and the child jumped--the first sign of life he had showed so far. Molly shushed him soothingly and quietly murmured another spell, a more complicated one to still the leg. Everything was frozen in place now: the blood flow, the bones, and the muscles. Nothing would move without her magic's consent. But she had to work quickly now, the muscles wouldn't survive long without blood flow. So Molly whispered the third spell at an abnormal little lump in the flesh that was obviously the bullet. It zipped out of the body just as fast as it had entered, and Molly let it fall to the ground before her. She quickly applied a simple healing cream to the inside of the wound, much like she had with Mac, and reversed the second spell, letting the blood flow and muscles work. She kept the numbing spell in place, though; it would be better if she just let it slowly wear off, so as not to shock the youth. She put a proper bandage on it, though there was only a tiny surface scratch now (as she had done with Mac, she kept just enough of the wound there so it looked like it was still there, but it wasn't nearly as painful or dangerous).

Molly reached once more into her bag and produced a tiny plastic box which she placed the bullet into. Instantly it was cleaned and purified, all traces of blood and bacteria gone. She rolled it up in a clear plastic baggy and gently placed it into the child's cold hand, wrapping his tiny fingers around it. He stared up at her with those dead eyes and she couldn't help but look away. She stared instead at her bag, and suddenly got an idea.

She had packed it just in case she would need it--just in case she found the right child. And she had. She eagerly and slightly frantically searched through her bag while Cat inched forward and cradled the boy's head in her lap, both children watching the woman.

Finally, Molly pulled out a black and white stuffed panda bear.

_"'ere ya go, Molly... Give it to yer kids..." Hagrid gave an almighty sniff as he handed the homemade stuffed panda bear to Molly. "It was s'posed to be 'arry's...but...but...well, I don' trust 'is relatives...Minerva tol' me all 'bout 'em, and I'm 'fraid they'd take it 'way from li'l 'arry and give it to their own son... And that spoilt brat has got enough toys to last him Dumbledore's lifetime. I'd feel be'er knowin' a kid that deserved it had it..."_

_Molly didn't know who this "'arry" boy was, but he was obviously very special to the giant that befriended her second oldest son, Charlie. But for some reason, she couldn't bare to give the toy to her own children. They had plenty of toys, they wouldn't appreciate the new one like it deserved to be appreciated. So she kept it in her closet, always waiting for the perfect child to give it to, for she knew one day she would find him or her. _

And she had.

Laying before her was the perfect little munchkin to hand the treasure over to. He would definitely appreciate it. Molly knew that these kids didn't have the money to buy toys, and didn't have the skill or time to make toys. But every child deserves a little playmate. Especially this one.

She held the bear out to the boy, but he just stared confusedly back. He wasn't stupid, he knew she was giving him it--handing him a toy and smiling encouragingly at him was the universal sign for, "Here, take it." But who would want to waste a perfectly good teddy bear on a street urchin like him? It would just get dirty and the already wobbly bear-head was sure to fall off soon. It was obviously handmade, yet despite it's crude appearance Snitch knew it had never been played with. The arms and legs weren't worn like the teddy bears he had seen in the "Use and Reuse" shop downtown.

"Take it, child," she whispered, placing it under his thin arm. He looked down at it, then back at her.

Silence.

Molly was worried. She glanced from the boy on the ground, to Cat, to Zilly, to Mouse, to Mac, and back at Cat and the boy. They were all staring at her without expression. Had she insulted them? She only wanted to help, she didn't mean--

"Thank you."

She gasped slightly and looked sharply at the boy. She had never heard his voice before but she knew he had just spoken. She looked into those green eyes and found a spark of life as he glanced down at the bear and back at her.

"Thank you," he said again. Molly smiled.

"You're welcome," she said. "Now, I want you to take good care of that bear. He's very special."

The boy nodded.

"Have you got a name for him?" Molly asked. The boy thought.

"Oreo," he said after a moment. Looking at the black and white gift of kindness, Snitch had been vividly reminded of when a girl with bushy brown hair had given him her bag of Oreo cookies, even after he had been caught pick-pocketing her father.

"That's a nice name," Molly responded. "Speaking of names, mine's Molly. What's yours?"

"Snitch."


	9. Kicking Rump

**Chapter Nine: Kicking Rump**

Cat sighed happily. She had just delivered Molly Weasley safely back to the church and was on her way back home. It was a good day (something rare in her life): Mouse wasn't sick, Mac had his hearty appetite back (she had never been so appreciative of his hungry belly than when he asked a confused Molly if she had a cheeseburger on hand), Zilly could work full-time now at the restaurant and bring home more money now that she wasn't so busy at home, and Snitch...in Snitch, Cat had seen a spark of life as he looked down at the kind gift in his hands. Cat's eyes filled with tears as she thought back to her little boy staring at the teddy bear with renewed childlike innocence. Innocence she had not seen since he had been an infant. Innocence she saw in the eyes of the Normy children skipping through a toy store.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Cat stopped walking and leaned against a grimy wall in a deserted alley, wiping her happy tears on her dirty sleeve. She gave a little sniff and shook her head in amusement: she was getting soft. It was a good thing there was nobody in this alley to see her in her sappy moment. Her friends would use it playfully against her for the rest of her days. And if her countless enemies were there in her moment of weakness? Well, she wouldn't even think about that. Suddenly very much aware of the danger she was putting herself in by staying in one place for too long, Cat pushed herself away from the wall and started on her way again.

But she didn't get far.

For that day she wasn't alone in the alley.

And it wasn't her friends that joined her.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Albus, there is something _wrong_!" 

"Arabella, I thought we settled this last week? Harry Potter is safe and sound, living with his aunt and uncle. Minerva has already informed me on how "wretched" they can be, but I am certain I am right in saying that no decent human being could turn away family. Trust me, Arabella."

A graying woman in a striped bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers shook with fury. Her wrinkled face became blotchy and red with anger and frustration.

"These aren't _decent human beings_, Albus! You heard how Petunia treated Lily--calling her a freak to her face! How could you leave Lily's little boy there and expect no harm done? I mean, really, be sensible, Albus, he's a wizard and they're magic-phobic Muggles! You can't honestly..."

Albus Dumbledore sighed and popped yet another lemon drop into his mouth. He had already gone through a whole bag in just one week thanks to his kind friend, Arabella Figg.

"Listen here, you old coot!"

Albus, still sucking on his precious lemon drop, cocked an eyebrow and listened carefully.

"I have no qualms having it out right here and now, old man! If you don't listen to what I have to say and take the necessary action, I'll have you on the ground screaming for mercy--whether I be a Squibb or not!"

Albus's eyes twinkled madly, despite the topic behind the threat.

"Alright, Arabella. You have my captive attention."

Arabella nodded appreciatively.

"Harry Potter should be six-years-old by now, already in Primary School. But I've never seen hide nor hair of the child--never! Not once since his parents died. I've seen his fat loaf of a cousin, oh yes, there's no way in the Seven Hells you can miss him--the boy's so big a hippogriff would run rampant at the mere _sight _of him! Really, I can't see how that thing came out of his mother--" Albus cleared his throat, eyes twinkling madly. "Oh, right, sorry. As I was saying, I've never seen the boy and you've showed me photographs of how he should look right about now, what with all your fancy magic technology--"

"Actually, it was a combination of the simply delightful and hilarious Muggle science in which--"

"_Don't interrupt me_!"

"Yes, ma'am." Albus popped in another lemon drop.

Arabella sighed wearily and lowered her voice. Staring at the ground, she got to the point.

"He isn't there, Albus," she said softly, her voice trembling emotionally. "I've been over there myself, asking for some sugar, and got a chance to look around. Not a sign of another boy living there. Just his aunt, uncle, and cousin."

Albus licked his lips nervously. Arabella's tone was not the hysterical siren she was prone to at the smallest of upsets--but calm, accepting, and worried. Albus didn't want to accept it. He didn't want to accept the fact that the few mistakes he made in life--in this case, sending Harry to live with his relatives--were detrimental to not himself, but to others. If what Arabella said was true, he may have once again managed to destroy somebody else's life. Albus didn't want to accept it, and he wouldn't until he saw it for himself.

But he had to take action to see it for himself. He couldn't wallow in denial--not with a child's life on the line.

"I'll notify the Ministry," he croaked, standing on old rickety legs. Arabella's head shot up, staring at him in disbelief.

"You will? Why?"

Albus nodded. He had no choice.

"I need legal permission to check on Harry. Boy-Who-Lived or not, he's still a child."

"But why get them involved, Albus? You're Headmaster, you're more powerful than the Minister, you could kick his a--"

"Arabella," Albus interrupted, "it makes no difference what job I possess, how powerful I may be, or whose rump I could kick. This is a legal matter. And if we want to remain in control of the happenings that will take place regarding the entire situation, we must remain in legal favor."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means we need to follow the law so they won't put us in Azkaban, where we will have absolutely no control in what happens with young Harry."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thanks so much for the reviews! This chapter was supposed to be much longer, but I've been distracted lately with huge tests in school (Patriot Girl can vouch for me there) and my ADD (she can vouch for me there, too, if you ignore her eyes rolling in exasperation). If you vote in the poll, please make your votes CLEAR. This is me we're talking about, and me isn't the brightest grape in the vineyard.

Poll: Should Snitch read when he gets to Hogwarts?  
Yes-39  
No-16  
A Little-29  
Japanese-19  
Latin-7

NEW: Should Snitch _**speak**_ English and Japanese (I have a plausible plan for this, so don't worry about probability)?  
Yes-9


	10. Douche Bag

**Chapter Ten: Douche Bag**  
_Dedicated to: Gilraen Aclamense_

"You _lost _the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"We don't know for certain--"

"You _lost_ the Boy-Who-Lived!" it wasn't a question.

"We need to pay a visit to the house--"

"_You lost the Boy-Who-Lived_!" Cornelius Fudge hissed vehemently. "Tell me, Albus: how do you _lose_ a savior!" he slammed his fist upon his oak desk for emphasis.

"Minister, I have tried to tell you time and time again--we don't know if he is even missing!" Dumbledore interlocked his old wrinkled fingers together in his lap. "We need permission to search the house and possibly question the Dursley family."

"Admit it, Dumbledore!" Fudge screeched. "You're too stubborn and foolish to admit your own follies!"

"I believe we're getting a bit off the topic, Minister, I--"

"_Admit it_!" Fudge jumped to his feet behind his desk, glaring daggers at him. Dumbledore understood that Fudge didn't want the blame. If Dumbledore would admit it was his fault, Fudge could keep his reputation relatively in-tact.

"Minister, I must insist you calm yourself," Dumbledore spoke softly. If he admitted it was his mistake, he might not be in control of the situation later. He had to play around Fudge's demands.

"_Calm myself_?" Fudge shrieked. "_Calm myself_! How the bloody hell can I _calm myself _with the savior of the Wizarding World _lost_--possibly _dead_!"

Anger boiled up in Arabella as she watched the scene unfold before her. How dare Fudge pretend he cared for Harry! All he cared about was what the world thought of him! _That's the least of his problems_, Arabella decided, eyeing the bowler hat perched precariously upon his balding head. She felt a pang of sympathy for Mrs. Fudge as she saw a tiny stream of mucus dribble out of his nose, face purple in anger, tufts of hair poking out of his ears, and stooped shoulders on a weak frame.

"Minister! I--"

Arabella ripped herself from her musings, bringing herself back to earth. Her previous anger returned with a vengeance at the look Fudge was giving Albus--she had long ago reserved the right to be the only being on the planet allowed to give the Headmaster that look.

"Listen here, you little snot!" Arabella threw herself towards the desk, shoving her angry face before his ugly nose. "I know it must be hard for your little brain to understand the words, "calm yourself," but I suggest you wrap your mind around the concept for once in your life before I set a centaur on you!" Fudge opened his mouth as if to retaliate, but Arabella brushed him off. "Don't you say a word! I'm warning you, douche bag, to stop pretending you care for Harry's safety if not for your reputation!"

"Now, see here!" Fudge wagged his finger as if scolding a naughty child.

"Minister, if I may be of assistance," Albus started, eyes twinkling merrily. "Arabella is simply concerned for young Mr. Potter's safety--it is not wise to disturb her in this state."

_Disturb her?_, Fudge thought, looking up at the dragon towering above him. _I think she crossed that line ages ago._

"Right, well," Fudge swallowed nervously--Mrs. Figg had not moved from her position before him. "Follow me, and we'll get the paperwork done… You'll be accompanied by two Aurors, given the circumstances surrounding Harry Potter. Do you have any preferences, Mr. Dumbledore?" Fudge spoke while edging around his desk and towards the door, keeping a weary eye on Arabella Figg all the while.

Dumbledore smiled and offered her a lemon drop.

**Author's Note:**

_Polls:  
Should Snitch read?  
__Yes-48  
__No-17  
__A Little-33  
__Japanese-24  
__Latin-10  
__Hebrew-1  
__Spanish-1_

_Should Snitch speak (other than English):  
__Japanese-26  
__A Little Japanese-1  
__Mute-1  
__Latin-1  
_  
_Expect an e-mail if you vote for Latin or Hebrew on either poll._ You may suggest new options with a VALID REASON.


	11. One Search Ends, Another Begins

**Chapter Eleven: One Search Ends, Another Begins**

Snitch had a gut feeling that when--not if, but when--he found Cat, he would wish he hadn't. He would wish he had just given up after the first few hours of searching rather than continuing on with this horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It had been four days since Molly Weasley had healed Mac, Mouse, and Snitch. Four days since Snitch's new friend--a teddy bear named Oreo--found it's way into his grimy little hands. Four days since Cat had taken Mrs. Weasley back to the church and had yet to return. Snitch knew what must have happened… But that didn't mean he could give up. He had to find her. He would never forgive himself if he gave up now. After all, there was always a chance, however slim, that everything would work out fine.

"Snitch," Mouse whispered, peaking around a corner to look back at his friend. "You okay?"

"Fine," Snitch answered shortly. Mouse gave him a pitying look, which caused a wave of anger to well up in Snitch: he didn't want nor deserve pity. He had brought this on himself. It was his fault. He could never accept pity. Mouse seemed to realize his mistake, as he quickly schooled his face back to neutral.

"Look, Snitch, I know--" Mouse started.

"Just shut up, Mouse."

Mouse closed his mouth with a snap and turned away, busying himself by looking through random piles of rubbish in the labyrinth of alleyways. Snitch sighed, feeling guilty. Mouse rarely spoke, even to Snitch, and for a good reason.

Mouse had run away from his neglectful family two years ago, when he was twelve. In his family he was ignored, even when he was sick. When he was younger, and his parents weren't on drugs all the time, his constant illnesses would worry his parents to the breaking point. But one day they crossed the breaking point when Mouse caught yet another virus. Annoyed by their "failure of a son," that caused them to drink and get high, they simply shoved him in the cellar, throwing down bags of groceries occasionally while they moved on with their drug-filled lives.

Mouse had since then grown up with little to no human contact, and soon became frightfully shy. He realized his parents had forgotten him when they had yet to throw down food for a week, so he quietly slipped out a tiny window (something too daring for him to risk before…after all, he was nice and safe hidden away in the basement as long as there was a sink, toilet, and food.) and ran as far as his thin legs could carry him. Finally he was forced to stop and fell asleep in a pile of garbage much like what he was currently searching through, to be later found--sick--and taken in by his new family, the Lions.

"Mouse?" Snitch called softly, staring at his friend's hunched over back. Mouse often feigned indifference when he was hurt. He was a sensitive fellow. "Sorry…?" Snitch didn't know what to say. He didn't often hurt anybody's feelings, much less Mouse's.

"It's fine," Mouse grunted.

"No, it's not." Snitch knew he was lying.

"Yeah, it is," Mouse insisted.

"Listen, I didn't mean--"

Mouse whirled around and stared down at Snitch. His eyes softened and he gently touched Snitch's thin shoulder.

"Let's jus' keep looking, hmm?"

Snitch nodded and looked at the ground. He was ruining everything. He had been part of the reason that Cat had gone for help (and was now consequently missing), he had been the one to force Mac to help him search for Cat instead of search for food, he had been the one to stress out Zilly--who was working, finding food, taking care of the three boys, _and _searching for Cat--and he had been the one to hurt Mouse.

He couldn't do anything right. Not even find his surrogate mother, Cat. Snitch clutched his threadbare backpack to his chest, thinking of the undeserved teddy bear inside, and slouched away to continue his search, trying his best to ignore the gut feeling that told him to give up now.

* * *

_Ding…Dong…_

Albus Dumbledore absentmindedly hummed a song entitled _Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead! _(from a delightful children's tale, The Wizard of Oz) as he pressed the doorbell of Number Four, Privet Drive.

Arabella Figg resisted the urge to stomp on his foot in annoyance.

Kingsley Shackle-Bolt, a tall dark man in his 30s, shifted uncomfortably under Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's terrible gaze. Kingsley couldn't see it for a fact, but he knew Mad-Eye's crazy eye was staring calculatingly at him. As if the old man wasn't strange enough to make Kingsley uncomfortable, but he was a legend in the Auror department. He had been retired for several years now, but that didn't mean he was any less alert or admirable. Dumbledore had requested his presence in the search and questioning of the Dursley family.

Moody suddenly spun round to face Kingsley, shoving a wand at his throat and shocking the young man into a frozen stance, hand gripping his pocketed wand in instinct. Dumbledore continued humming, oblivious of the scene taking place behind him as they waited on the wide porch step. Arabella turned round to give Moody a look that seemed to ask what the hell he was doing. Kingsley gulped audibly, but otherwise didn't make a sound. Moody smirked and tucked away his wand, turning to face the back of Dumbledore's head once again.

"Constant vigilance…" he said softly in a sing-song voice. Coming out of his shock, Kingsley scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion and looked down at his childhood hero.

"Err--excuse me?"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody screamed, turning back to the man twice his height, waving his wand threateningly.

"Oh!" a woman's voice interrupted.

Moody paused and turned to see a shocked horse-faced woman answer the door with a loud gasp. He didn't mind her horrified eyes as they stared at his war-worn face with a huge electric-blue eyeball in comparison to his natural tiny black eye. He shrugged it off--he got that look often. He returned his wand to his pocket and cocked an eyebrow as if to ask, "What?"

"Petunia, my dear!" Dumbledore offered in greeting, stepping forward into the house without an invitation. The others followed.

"W-Wha…?" Mrs. Dursley stammered.

Moody's magical eye whipped around, taking in everything from the huge oaf of a man relieving himself in the loo upstairs, to the tubby boy watching television in the living room while swallowing cream-filled doughnuts in single bites.

Not a sign of Potter.

"--and we would simply enjoy the pleasure of speaking to young Harry--" Dumbledore was saying.

"Let's get to the point, Dumbledore," Moody interrupted. Arabella sighed in relief: she was not a patient woman. "Potter's not here," he confirmed, glaring at Petunia with both eyes. "Where is he?"

"I-I…Well, you see…err…" Petunia was at a loss for words.

"Petunia dearest? Who was at the door?" Vernon Dursley thundered down the stares in all his obese glory, halting at what he saw in his kitchen.

Freaks.

He could sense it. He prided himself in having a sort of fifth sense in being able to identify freaks involved in his wife's sister's freakish world.

Or maybe it was the fact that a wand--sparking threateningly at the end--was pointed between his eyes, held by a man with a chunk of his nose missing and two terribly miss-matched eyes.

"Where's Potter?" the man asked.

Vernon, staring cross-eyed at the surprisingly steady wand, attempted to swallow his fear.

"I don't know what you're--"

"YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, MUGGLE!"

Arabella grinned, approving of Moody's behavior. _Now that's my kind of man!_ _…ew, did I just think that?_

"I swear, I--" a pale Mr. Dursley squeaked. Honestly, how a pile of filth such as this could be related to the heir of the Potter family was beyond comprehension.

"Vernon Dursley," Dumbledore spoke softly and dangerously, gaining the undivided attention of the entire room. "Sit down."

Vernon sat.

"You are under investigation for the absence of Harry James Potter, age six, left in your care on the first of November, 1981," Dumbledore advanced towards Vernon, holding a vial with clear liquid that could have been water--however, Vernon instinctively knew it wasn't. "We know young Mr. Potter is not in the house, and there seems to be no signs whatsoever of him," Dumbledore added, looking around at the hundreds of photographs containing images of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley and a young fat blonde boy. "If indeed he is still under your care, speak now. I can assure you, the consequences will be dire if he is not safe."

Vernon gulped.

"I--well, I…err…"

"_Speak_, Muggle!" Moody cried, waving his wand in the man's face. Vernon flinched and Petunia whimpered softly. Dumbledore glanced at Petunia and nodded towards her husband. Petunia took the hint and sat next to her husband: she was also under investigation.

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed, seeing that Vernon had nothing to offer him. He uncorked the vial and took a step towards him.

"WAIT!" Vernon screamed. Arabella quirked a brow. _What now?_ she thought. _Just get on with it already! Where's Harry!_ "I--I know where he is!" Vernon's hands were shaking, and Petunia gave him an incredulous look while clutching his arm in a death grip.

"Well?" Moody growled. Vernon groped for a pen and paper, scribbling something on the pad; eyes never leaving Moody's wand.

"Here…this is where he is. He's safe," he didn't offer more information. He didn't want to make things worse. He had given them the address of Barb's Diner, the restaurant next to the alley where he had dumped Harry Potter five years ago. He still remember that day. Though he would never admit it, he felt guilty for what he had had to do. His wife would not allow the freak into the house, and frankly neither would he. But a child is a child, no matter what deformity is was unfortunately born with. And Vernon Dursley was human, with a human heart; he knew the child was dead now.

But seeing the seething freaky faces of those around him, Vernon knew what he had to do. He had to get his own family out of this mess. He was the man, he needed to protect his family--especially from freaks.

Dumbledore took the slip of paper from Vernon's shaking but determined hands, glancing at it with an expressionless face before handing it over to Kingsley, who nodded and disappeared with a _pop!_

Vernon blinked at the display. The others weren't leaving…that was a problem. He needed them to leave, he needed to get a few things together before hauling his wife and son into the car and driving as far away as possible.

"A-Aren't you going to check?" he asked, feigning concern.

"Kingsley will," Dumbledore answered shortly.

Vernon blanched. They weren't leaving. They would know that the child wasn't there, they could even string together what he had done! He couldn't let that happen…his family, he needed to protect his family!

Minutes ticked by in agonizing tension before a loud _crack!_ announced the arrival of Kingsley.

Empty handed.

The man didn't say anything, just shook his head negatively to Dumbledore, who turned back to Vernon.

Vernon gulped.

Glancing towards his wife and grabbing her hand reassuringly, his eyes darted towards the stairs. Petunia gave a nearly imperceptible nod, knowing what to do.

Without warning, Vernon jumped to his feet, running towards the stairs with his wife in tow. Petunia, being in better shape, ran ahead of him to retrieve their son. In the kitchen they had left a mess of scrambling wizards--and a woman he could have sworn had borrowed a cup of sugar from them once. He smirked: guess they weren't so smart after all? His elation grew as he saw his family tumble down the stairs towards him. They were getting out! The freaks were too late!

He turned around to throw open the front door and instead was tackled by a blur of gray hair and fuzzy pink bedtime slippers.

The shock was enough to knock him to the ground, but he soon threw his neighbor off of him, only to be tackled by Moody. Arabella stood up, brushing herself off and looking disgusted to have even _touched_ such a thing as Mr. Dursley. Moody growled dangerously at Vernon, straddling the large man so he couldn't move. Usually he would have been repulsed to have used such a _Muggle_ disarming technique. But not this time.

"You dare to handle a lady like that!" he spat, gesturing to Arabella. Her heart skipped a beat: he had tackled a man twice his size and half his age simply because of the way the man treated her?

_How sweet!_

Vernon grunted, struggling to get away. But Moody held strong, pointing his wand at Vernon. Black ropes flew from the tip and wrapped themselves around him, holding him in place on the ground. Moody did the same to Petunia and stunned the child hiding behind her: no reason to traumatize the boy.

Moody grabbed Vernon's jaw, prying it open with his crinkly old hands, and pulled a vial from the depths of his robes. He carefully dripped three beads of clear liquid into the struggling Muggle's disgusting mouth, forcing him to swallow. Vernon's body went slack, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth sagged a bit.

Moody, still clutching Vernon's throat from his previous rage, was gently guided off Vernon's chest to a standing position. Moody grunted, eyes never leaving Vernon's despicable face. _Nasty bugger…_

Dumbledore stood above Vernon, looking down at the man with mixed emotions; anger, guilt, and resent being the most prominent.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked gravely.

"Yes," came the monotone reply.

"Where is Harry James Potter?"

"I do not know."

With this remark the room's atmosphere collectively became darker, more sinister.

"What did you do with Harry James Potter the day he was found on your doorstep?" Dumbledore continued.

"I dumped him in London."

Now the room was filled with tension, as the wizards and Squib barely restrained their impulses to tear the man apart.

"Where did you dump him?" Dumbledore asked, glaring down his crooked nose at the monster before him.

Vernon relayed the same address he had given the wizards earlier on a slip of paper.

"Why?" was all Dumbledore could think of to ask through his muddled mind.

"Petunia asked me to. We agreed we would not tolerate having a magical being in the house."

Kingsley jumped in the questioning.

"So you _dumped_ an _infant _in the streets of London?" his deep voice rose a few pitches, trying to take in the fact.

"Yes."

Other members of the group continued to question the man incredulously, not willing to accept the fact. After all, no mere infant could survive the streets. It was unfathomable!

Dumbledore stepped back, taking off his half-moon glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. He couldn't give up hope on the son of Lily and James Potter--he would rather die at the hands of Voldemort. He knew the chances of finding the child alive were slim to none, but he could not rest until he tried his best.

_Let the search begin_, he thought.

* * *

Snitch's eyes squinted and his throat burned as he inhaled the horrible stench in the air. Climbing over trash bins, stumbling over heaps of rubbish, and rummaging in every corner, the thin child fought down the rise of vomit that threatened to spill out of his hungry mouth. 

The smell was overpowering, filling his eyes with protective tears and tearing at his throat. He coughed. But with every gasp of air between coughs the stench grew stronger. He shoved his nasty shirt into his mouth and nose, trying to escape from the terrible odor.

There was only on thing that reeking stench could be coming from. No human could ever mistake the smell of a rotting corpse.

And even before Snitch climbed down into the dumpster the smell was coming from, he knew his search for Cat was over.

* * *

**

* * *

A/N:** THY POLL HATH CLOSETH! If you want to know the results, please let me know in a SIGNED review, or give me your e-mail address. Some might want it as a surprise. Note: HARRY IS NOT SUPER-SMART! Get over. Thank you for your patience, I had final exams and then new classes I had to settle into. Updates will come more frequently. Alee, I'm ordering you to pester me to the point that I want to smack you. One update every week, okay? 


	12. Just a Teddy Bear

**Chapter Twelve: Just a Teddy Bear**

Molly Weasley stormed angrily into the Ministry of Magic, random papers and bits of dust flying up at her heels, while dragging a young girl and three boys (two with identical glint of wonder and mischief in their eyes).

Mrs. Weasley had received an official-looking owl yesterday evening, while preparing dinner, requesting her appearance at the Ministry, specifically the Department controlling what magic Muggles are allowed to see, and when they can see it. They had detected magic from her wand in the middle of Muggle-London and wanted to know why.

"I'll tell them why…" she growled under her breath. Her children looked up in curiosity, but wisely chose to stay out of it. They were just along for the ride because they couldn't be trusted to stay alone at home (of course, the Ministry probably wasn't too safe with the twins on board, but the Ministry's safety was the last thing concerning Molly).

She burst into the office of the official she was supposed to see, after threatening the old grump at the security desk. The door banged against the wall, leaving a large hole where the knob hit it. The poor secretary in the office jumped a foot in the air, throwing her papers all across the room. Paper fluttered before Molly's steaming face as she glared down at the young girl.

"Where is Mr. Berry?" Molly hissed at the poor thing. The girl pointed a shaking finger at a large oak door, with a brass plate on the paneling that read the occupant's name.

Of course. After all, this Mr. Berry must be something _special_ if he had the nerve to send an owl at dinnertime, requesting a busy mother's attention _the very next day_, to explain why she saved the lives of several orphan children living on the streets!

_Deep breath…breathe in…breathe out…_

Giving her daughter's hand a reassuring squeeze (more to comfort herself of those horrific memories than to comfort her bewildered child), she made her way determinedly towards the door, not even looking back when the secretary offered to watch over her children while she met with Mr. Berry, the head of the Department.

She marched through the door, not bothering to close it behind her, and noticed that Mr. Berry seemed to be in a meeting of sorts.

"'oo iz zis?" the man sitting in the visitor's chair said, giving his curled mustache a curious twitch as he examined a harried looking red-head breathing like an angry bull. "I wuz not informed of anozzer--"

"Oh, no," the man behind the desk--presumably Mr. Berry--reassured the apparently French man. "Pardon me, sir, I believe it is simply a secretarial mistake." Mr. Berry looked into a hand mirror propped up on his desk, saying into it, "Susanna Barns,"

The nervous face of the secretary Molly had terrified appeared.

"Yes, Mr. Berry, sir?"

Molly looked from Mr. Berry, through the open door to Susanna's desk not ten feet away…why they couldn't talk through the open doorway, she would never know.

"Who is this?" Berry said, looked up under his gray-haired fringe to peer at Molly curiously. His thick black unibrow was scrunched in the middle in mild confusion and maybe a hint of worry at the look on Molly's face.

"Umm, I'm not entirely sure, sir, she didn't introduce herself. But if I were to guess from your listed appointments--" Molly interrupted Susanna:

"I'll tell you who I am! I'm Molly Weasley! You told me to come here are precisely eight in the morning today, so here I am!" she shoved the official notice under his too-small-for-his-face nose. "And I must say, it's rather _rude_ to not be prepared after your also-rude _last-minute_ notice! You're chatting with a Frenchman during the time in which my appointment was to take place!"

The "Frenchman" looked insulted.

"Excusez-moi, Madame, I--"

"Oh, shut it, Frenchy!" Molly said exasperatedly. Her children looked up at her in amazement. Berry and Frenchy conversed quietly in French, before Frenchy got up and left the room, closing the door with a resounding _click_ behind him. Molly's eyes never left Berry's scraggly beard, tufts of ear hair, and a shadow of nose hair poking out.

"Now, Mrs. Weasley, I am not entirely sure what has gotten you so upset, but I'm sure with a nice cup of tea--"

"I'll just tell you what has gotten me so upset, shall I? Not only your continuously rude manners and your excessively disgusting facial hair, but also the fact that you _dare_ to bring me in here…"

Mr. Berry rubbed the bridge of his nose. This promised to be a long meeting.

* * *

Hours later, Molly Weasley happily presented her lovely children with pieces of double-fudge fudge cake with chocolate fudge icing. She made sure to give the twins extra-large pieces. She smiled at the bit of soot on George's nose, a single remnant of the havoc the wreaked in the disgusting man's office. When she was finally escorted out of the office (cleared of all warnings and charges), the desk was incinerated and the coat rack was flying about the room, attacking the chickens (that were once Mr. Berry's shoes).

But something about the state of the Ministry when she left the building concerned her. She saw more officials (mostly Aurors, but other employees from all sorts of Departments, and plenty of Unspeakables) fluttering about, running to and fro in a panic, all screaming about a missing person. Who was missing, Molly didn't know, but whoever it was the Daily Prophet would surely something about it in the next day's paper.

She supposed the initial panic in the entire Ministry played a larger part in her dismissal than the chaos her children caused in a single office. But who was she to question Fate?

She greeted her husband, Arthur, as he finally made his way out of the Floo. He shook off his cloak, kissing his children and wife on the cheek, and finally sat down to steal a bite of cake.

"Mm, this is delicious, dear! Marvelous cooking!" he exclaimed, a little too cheerfully. Molly looked at him suspiciously.

"Arthur, is something wrong?"

"N-No, nothing wrong, honey…did you use different eggs in the batter this--"

"Arthur, come here," Molly led him into the living room so the children wouldn't hear. "Tell me what's wrong _now_. You know you can't hide it from me."

Arthur sighed.

"Fine then. Harry Potter is missing, presumed dead," he blurted out. Molly's face was shocked.

"Dead?"

"Presumed," he correctly. He sighed again. "From what I heard, the Muggles he was left with lost him, but rumors are going around…some think the Muggles abandoned him."

"_Abandoned _him? But why?" Molly gasped.

"Don't know…but he's been missing for years, and they never reported it. They've got every department looking for any hints as to his location. Old newspapers, Child Service's Reports, everything. We can't find anything at all. Nothing to suggest that he ever existed after that Hallowe'en night…"

Molly's face tightened with grief. Harry Potter--Boy-Who-Lived or not--was a child, and as such Molly Weasley felt the need to coddle him, as with any child.

How could anybody _abandon_ the sweet soul of an innocent baby? The thought was unthinkable to her, but apparently one family thought it, considered it, and carried through with it.

She wanted to rant and rave, she wanted to curse those Muggles from the face of the Earth. She wanted to burn their house down, feed their bodies to a herd of angry hippogriffs, and erase the very memory of their pitiful existence.

But all she did was say,

"What will we tell the children? They love the story of Harry Potter, especially Ginny."

Arthur nodded solemnly, almost feeling guilty for discussing only the reactions of their children. But there wasn't much they could do, was there?

"I can't imagine exposing the younger ones to the reality of the world like this," he sounded phony. Like the man on the television channel that brought Muggles the current news of their world. But he continued, "Abandoned children? _Dead_ children?"

Molly shook her head sadly. "We won't tell the younger ones. Just Percy, Charlie, and Bill. Hide the newspapers from the twins, they're old enough to figure it out. And don't turn on the radio, the DJ's might say something about it…"

As Molly Weasley continued with her mission to save her children's innocence, a nagging feeling ate at the back of her mind. Something about that teddy bear she gave the child the other day… But she waved it away. That was not important now.

After all, it was just a teddy bear.

* * *

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* * *

A/N: I love reviews, that's why I'm updating again...oh yeah, and for the joy of writing. **


	13. Santa Claus

**Chapter Thirteen: Santa Claus**

_BOY-WHO-LIVED--MISSING!_

_Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived (past story on D4), has been reported by the Ministry as missing, presumed dead. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, sent young Potter to live with his Muggle relatives the day after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated. An anonymous tip drove Dumbledore and Ministry officials to visit the Muggle home to "check up" on Potter, only to discover that the Muggles abandoned the child in the streets of London years ago._

_Potter would be six years old, he was abandoned at the age of one year. Dumped in such harsh conditions, "…nobody that age has a chance of survival," Minister Cornelius Fudge sadly told reporters at yesterday's press conference. "If Dumbledore had gone through the complete legal process in dealing with Mr. Potter's living arrangements, I'm certain the savior of the Wizarding World would be safe and sound right now."_

_It is uncertain whether or not Dumbledore will face charges on his actions (or lack, thereof) regarding Mr. Potter's safety. All Dumbledore said was, "…no decent human being can turn away family, especially a child."_

_Potter's Muggle relatives now face charges in the Muggle legal system, and Potter will be searched for in both the Muggle and the Wizarding world. "Though there's not much hope," Fudge says, "we have to try."_

_Continued on A3.

* * *

_

Dumbledore gently rubbed small circles on the back of the broken man sobbing on his desk. Remus Lupin sat in Dumbledore's office chair, leaning on his desk with his head in his arms, wailing at the top of his lungs. Dumbledore had done all he could to help (if lemon drops couldn't help, what could?), so he continued to pat the man's back in a comforting manner.

Remus blubbered on, screeching a few sentences and vulgarities here and there, but sticking relatively to tears and screams of torment. Dumbledore understood the man felt guilty for not fighting harder for Harry's custody, but the laws prohibited any child in the care of a werewolf, especially the savior of the Wizarding world. There was no way around it, but in grief such as this, guilt snakes its way through the logic and plants itself into the center of all the turmoil--in this case, all the memories of James, Lily, and Harry.

Remus clutched at his hair, attempting to rip it out of his scalp. Dumbledore gently removed his hands from his head, but Remus seemed determined to cause his guilt-ridden self as much pain as possible. He smashed his head against the hard oak desk, pulled on the delicate skin of his face and arms, scratching wherever he could reach.

"No! No! No!" Remus screamed, reaching to slam his hand in the desk drawer. Dumbledore turned around, ran to the fireplace and called for Severus Snape to bring a calming drought. Within minutes, Snape swept in the room in all his dark glory, robes billowing behind him with the ever-lasting sneer on his pale face.

Wordlessly, he handed the potion to Dumbledore, who in turn tilted Remus's head back and forced it down his throat. Within seconds the man was calmer than any lemon drop could make Dumbledore. Of course, it was Snape's potion after all.

"Let me take a shot in the dark," Snape said, smirking slightly.

"Severus…" Dumbledore said warningly.

"The werewolf is upset because its cub is lost," Snape continued.

"Please, Severus, don't..."

"--and probably dead," he finished cruelly, obviously enjoying the man's pain. It felt good to give it all back after that scare he got in fifth year, under the Whomping Willow.  
Remus looked up, amber eyes flashing dangerously.

"I warned you not to," was all Dumbledore could manage before a blur of patchy robes threw itself at Snape.

* * *

His own throat was choking him. The lump just wouldn't go away, no matter how many times he swallowed. 

His dirty cheeks were rubbed raw, salty tears stained the skin red from the continuous rivulets of tears pouring down them.

His eyes were puffy and red from the tears spilling over in grief.

He felt as though he might die of dehydration, but luckily he ran out of tears before that could happen.

Though the thought of death-by-dehydration entered his muggy mind, he refused the water his sister offered him. He thought perhaps, if it didn't quench his thirst, it might open up his throat a bit so he could get some air into his lungs. But without air, he would die. Without water, he would die. And without the food his ever-hungry brother was offering him, he would die.

That's just one step closer to his mother.

Closing his tired eyes, he thought back to happier times. When his mother--his sister and best friend--was right there beside him, fighting for survival in a death battle (yes, even the thought of a death battle was happier than what he found in that dumpster), searching desperately for food before the family starved, and swiping warm blankets from the store down the street so they wouldn't freeze during the harsh winters.

Soon, blissful darkness consumed his vision, dragging him to a better world in the dreams of his mind.

* * *

Dumbledore lied down on his simple bed, warm and safe under the blankets, while he knew Harry Potter was out there somewhere--alive--but most definitely _not_ warm and safe.

* * *

Snitch was in a field. A huge, wide, golden wheat field. The wheat and grass he lied on was soft and comforting, bringing peace into his dark and dreary life. Bringing warmth to his cold being. He sighed contentedly--or as contentedly as he could. His friend was dead. While he didn't feel happy, he wasn't drowned with feelings of guilt and anger. This field would not allow it. _It is time to relax_, that's what the field was saying to him. _Relax_. 

The sun was beaming happily on his dirty face, until a shadow suddenly blocked the light from reaching his skin. He opened his eyes, glaring angrily at whatever dared to disturb his much-needed peace.

He cocked his head in curiosity. It was summer, what was Santa Claus doing here? He had never visited him or anybody in his family before (he figured it was because they had to lie, steal, and kill to survive, that might be considered "naughty"), why start visiting now--and in the middle of June? Snitch started to pull himself to his feet, but Santa sat down instead. Snitch sat again, staring that the old man.

"Aren't ya s'posed to be fat?" he asked innocently, staring at the frail (but powerful) frame before him. Santa chuckled.

"No, child, I would rather like to avoid the complications of obesity," Santa said.

"What?"

Santa leaned in closer.

"I don't want to be fat, I might be made fun of," he whispered conspiratorially, throwing in a wink. Snitch scrunched up his face like little kids do, then caught sight of the tempting beard. Glancing from Santa's eyes to the beard and back again, Snitch quickly reached forward and gave it a sharp tug, before snatching his hand back to safety.

"I had to make sure it was real," he explained at the questioning look Santa was giving him. "So how come yer here, Santa? Aren't ya s'posed to come round at Christmas?"

"Santa?" the old man looked down at himself, then laughed uproariously. "Oh, dear child, I am not Santa Claus! My name is Albus Dumbledore. Unfortunately I do not have the honor of being ol' St. Nick!" Snitch deflated a little, disappointed that Santa had not decided to finally visit after all.

"Oh," he said sadly. Dumbledore gazed pityingly at the little boy dressed in rags, dirty from head to toe, and in need of a good cheering up.

"Lemon drop?"


	14. Kick and Run

**Chapter Fourteen: Kick and Run**

"So was yer name again?" Snitch asked, munching on a handful of Lemon Drops and sitting cross-legged in front of Dumbledore in the field.

"Albus Dumbledore," he answered.

"So where ya from?" the child asked.

"I'm originally from Ireland, but I've been living in Great Britain for many years now."

Snitch squinted his eyes, studying Dumbledore's appearance.

"How many years?"

"Oh, too many to count, dear boy!"

"I can count to a million."

"Can you?" Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. Snitch nodded, proudly puffing out his chest. "Where did such a young boy learn that vast amount of knowledge?"

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. Snitch visibly deflated, his eyes shadowed over with grief and he ducked his head to avoid the man's gaze. A somber air descended upon his thin shoulders, sparking curiosity in Dumbledore's mind.

"Child?"

Snitch didn't answer.

"What is troubling you?"

Snitch hesitated, then leveled his eyes with Dumbledore's gaze.

"She's dead," he whispered sadly.

"Who is dead?"

"Cat."

"Your cat is dead? I'm very sorry to hear that, but death is a part of having a pet--"

"She wasn't a pet!" Snitch hissed defensively. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "She's my mother…she _was_ my mother…and they killed her."

Snitch sat in stony silence, while Dumbledore bowed his head in respect to Cat's memory.

"Death is a part of life, child," he said softly.

"Yeah, for people like you!" Snitch growled angrily. "It's not s'posed to happen to kids, but it does! It ain't fair, we never catch a break!" he crossed his arms and pouted.

"What do you mean? Who doesn't catch a break?" Dumbledore asked, concerned.

"Other kids are spoiled little brats who get everything they want! They don't have to worry 'bout starving, freezing, or gettin' killed! But we do, an' our lives are hard enough, we shouldn' have to deal with death! Why cain't it happen to the kids who have money and ever'thing else in this world? They got families and homes and food and blankets and toys, and we got weapons and fights and food a dog wouldn' touch!" Snitch screamed angrily to the sky, as if yelling at Fate.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, staring at the child before him. A child that had obviously gone through more hardships than a grown man's fair share, and it didn't seem to be getting any better.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"What?" Snitch said, coming out of his angry thoughts.

"What is your name?"

"Oh. It's Snitch," he answered, turning back to the sky and giving it one last glare before turning back to Dumbledore.

"Snitch? May I inquire as to why?"

"Huh?" Snitch said, confused.

"Why is your name Snitch?" Dumbledore clarified.

Snitch shrugged. "When they found me, they were tryin' to find a name for me, and that's when I said real loud '_snitch!_' and so they let that be my name," he explained as though it was nothing. Dumbledore looked as though he were thinking deeply over the simple story.

"When was this?" he asked, eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

"When I was a baby, I don' know how old I was…" Snitch said, trailing off as he watched Dumbledore's face go through a number of emotions.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's head snapped up, renewed hope in his eyes.

"Snitch, would you come closer?"

"No," Snitch answered, suddenly weary of this strange stranger. His street senses were screaming danger, but a nagging feeling in the back of his mind was keeping him from bolting.

"Fair enough," Dumbledore said. "Then would you kindly tell me what color your eyes are? I'm afraid my vision isn't what it used to be…"

"…green…"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, a tiny smile gracing his wrinkled face. "And beneath all the dirt and grime, your hair is black and hopelessly messy, is it not?"

Snitch nodded suspiciously.

"And beneath the bangs, is a lightning bolt-shaped scar?"

Nagging feeling at the back of his mind or not, this was too creepy. Snitch did what his instincts told him.

He shoved his foot in Dumbledore's face and ran as far and fast as he could.

Curiously enough, Dumbledore didn't feel any pain.

_Must be a dream of sorts,_ he thought, watching the waif sprint away into the world of the awake. _Or,_ his thoughts continued, taking into account the extreme feeling of reality in the field,_ a shared vision?

* * *

_

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to Swiffer and Mitch ( lil bro), because it's their birthdays Wednesday! I just can't wait to get this chapter out. Any serious confusion to the shared dream/vision, please say so in a signed review or leave your email address. They will be explained further in later chapters. Expect short, frequent updates!

Hoo Maa Boo--hope the kick was good enough...put it in there just for you, so be happy! ;)


	15. Let Me Stay at My Old Warehouse

**Chapter Fifteen: Let Me Stay at My Old Warehouse**

Weeks went by, and Dumbledore and Snitch continued to meet in the dreams every night. They provided a sense of comfort and relief to Snitch, and a sense of hope to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore explained to Snitch that his real name was Harry Potter, and that his parents had been killed by a man named Tom Riddle. He didn't tell him about magic or about his fame. The child was six years old, there was no sense in introducing him to that. He told him that he had left him on the doorstep of his Aunt and Uncle's house, but that--unbeknownst to Dumbledore--they did not get along with the child's parents, so they apparently dumped him in the streets.

Dumbledore had to lie about him knowing Lily's relationship with her sister. He needed Snitch to trust him.

Snitch did in fact come to trust Dumbledore (with a few fallbacks, which included Snitch pulling a knife on the old man). He knew that in these dreams nothing could physically hurt him (he tested that theory on himself once and nearly gave Dumbledore a heart attack). But he also knew that they weren't exactly dreams.

Dumbledore told him that sometimes, when necessary, the human mind can call out to who they need most.

_"I need my mother most," Snitch had said. Maybe he could see her again, in one of these dream-visions!_

_"Nothing--not even visions such as this--can bring back the dead, child. It is a hard lesson to learn, but a necessary one," Dumbledore replied softly._

_"So I needed you?" Snitch said incredulously. "Why would I need you? I don' even know ya!"_

_Hurt flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, but he blinked it away. The child just didn't understand._

_"You will in later days," was all he said._

_"Nuh-huh!" Snitch pouted like the child he was. "I don' need nobody! 'specially a old fart like you!"_

And that was the end of that particular conversation.

Now Dumbledore sat, watching Snitch play with an old ratty blanket as it blew about in the wind of the field. It was as if the field was playing with the young boy; letting thehim play like any and every kid should be able to play. But he hadn't been allowed until now.

Dumbledore munched on a new Muggle candy, trying out the taste as he pondered deeply as to his next move.

He didn't know where Snitch was in real life. He couldn't break into his mind to find out either, that would be dangerous. As the two were sharing the same mind-powered dream, he would in a sense be breaking into his own mind at the same time. That could possibly link the two minds together and show Snitch things no human should ever see.

No matter what, he would not take away what was left of the boy's innocence.

By Snitch's--admittedly tarnished--accent, Dumbledore knew he had not left the country. He was probably still in London, with any luck. But he didn't know for sure. And it would take years to search every nook and cranny of the huge city, and Snitch would have surely moved from place to place, slipping from the Wizarding World's grasp of safety with every naïve step he took.

Sending a search party was out of the question.

Dumbledore tried to wheedle out Snitch's exact location, but he was too smart for that. He didn't want to leave his family, however broken, to go live with a strange old fart that ate candy more than he breathed. Dumbledore tried to explain the matter of safety to the ignorant kid, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. He would not desert his family, and his family would not take any chance of separation, which would inevitably happen; as unfortunate as it was, Dumbledore could not be in control of everything.

Snitch refused Dumbledore's efforts to "help" him and his family. He was very sensitive about what was left of it, and still seemed a tad bitter that Dumbledore had ruined Snitch's tiny hope of a vision-reunion with his mother.

"If you tell me where you live, I can take you and your family to a place with hundreds of blankets," he tried to bribe him once again.

"We got blankets."

"I'll introduce you to ice-cream!"

"Don' want any, it's almost win'er."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Cain't miss what you've never had."

"You'll never have to miss it, I'll make sure you have enough hot chocolate to last you three lifetimes!" Dumbledore was grasping at straws now.

"That's wasting," Snitch smirked. "You cain't win, moron. Yer just a stupid Norm."

"What is a Norm?" Dumbledore asked, recovering.

"Norm. Normal person. Someone who's got a place to live," Snitch tried to explain. He had never really thought of the definition, just accepted the fact that those people that looked down on him when he walked down the streets were called Norms, and that was an insult to one's social status on the streets. Norms were pathetic in survival instinct, they couldn't live a day like the kids on the streets.

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore seemed to grasp the big picture, however incomplete the explanation was. "Well, I suppose that is true. I do have somewhere to live, and so could you if you come with me…" he let the offer hang in the air, but Snitch just rolled his eyes.

"_No_," he said firmly.

And that was that.

"Where did you get that blanket?" Dumbledore changed to subject, looking at the deep blue baby blanket. It looked oddly familiar…

"I was wrapped up in it when they found me."

So it was young Harry's baby blanket. The blanket he was in when Dumbledore left him on the doorstep of his Aunt and Uncle's. Dumbledore relayed the bit of information to the curious boy.

"Really?" he said, seemingly interested. _So that means,_ Snitch thought to himself, staring at the worn and torn blanket, _that I had this blanket when I had real parents--a real home!_ He hugged the blanket tight, taking an almighty whiff, trying to take in the smell of a loving home that existed all those years ago.

All he smelled was the familiar musty smell of the old warehouse, where his broken family lived.

* * *

**

* * *

**


	16. Ain't Never Gonna Get It

**Chapter Sixteen: Ain't Never Gonna Get It**

_DUMBLEDORE BELIEVES BOY-WHO-LIVED STILL ALIVE!_

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, stated yesterday in a press-conference that he believes Harry Potter, a.k.a.: The Boy-Who-Lived, is still alive somewhere in England._

_Potter went missing after being abandoned the day after he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the age of one. Potter had been sent to live with Muggle relatives by Dumbledore himself, and was dumped in the streets of London hours later by his Uncle, as reported last week. Dumbledore has thus far not been charged with child endangerment as a result of his foolish actions in the placement of the child._

_But this reporter asks the question on everyone's mind today: is Dumbledore simply trying to cover up his own mistakes?_

_Written by, Rita Skeeter

* * *

_

The House Elves of Azkaban gave the prisoners small piles of newspapers to pad the hard wooden benches that passed as beds, for toilet paper, and to line any unbearable cracks in the walls and ceiling that let cold drafts of air flow through.

Sirius Black was not yet ready to let his connection (or what he thought was a "connection") to the world slip away. He read every newspaper he came across, if not for the supposed "connection" to the knowledge of the outside world's every-day happenings, then for simply passing his lifetime in prison away quickly, so he could own up to his transgressions in the after-life, where he would pay the price he had done.

Sure, it was an accident--but grief has funny ways in which to twist and deform the facts into torturous, factual-fiction in the minds and souls of the heart-torn victims.

He didn't mean to betray Lily and James…and poor little Harry… He had tried to make the right decision, but he was too busy to quickly find the true criminal. He tried to find a fast answer and execute a solution to the safety dilemma the Potters faced. He pointed the finger to his dear friend Remus and turned over his best mate's safety to the paws of a rat.

_How ironic,_ Sirius thought, _that all those years ago, I thought Remus was the traitor…I was wrong, and now he thinks I am the traitor…he is as wrong as I was._

But Remus's misjudgment had not cost the lives of his friends. Just Sirius's (admittedly rightful, in his own opinion) freedom. Sirius was more than happy to sit here in this cell and rot away into nothingness, until he passed on and paid the full price for his misjudgment.

He would be more than happy to do so.

But he couldn't.

He wouldn't.

The blank face of a tiny little boy, with a mop of messy black hair, abnormally pale skin, thin lips, and what would be green eyes (in the black and white ink) blinked up at him from the front page of the Daily Prophet he had been planning to use as a crinkly pillow.

Harry.

Little, innocent Harry Potter. Son of those he betrayed to the paws of the rat.

Lost.

Missing.

Abandoned.

_Abandoned? Who could abandon such a sweet baby boy? …My sweet baby boy…_

Once again, Sirius was about to fail. He would fail not only Lily and James in the trust of their safety, but also in the trust of their son's safety…by naming him godfather to the little tyke, they gave him the trust, power, responsibility, and honor to make Harry's safety absolute.

And he was about to fail.

But he refused. He would not fail his friends again. He could not fail poor Harry again--he had failed the boy when he inadvertently stole away his parents, and again when he chased after Peter instead of fighting Dumbledore for custody of the child.

Dumbledore.

Dumbledore thought the kid was still alive, even after being dumped in London five years prior. Despite Dumbledore's lack of trust in Sirius, he still held the man in great respect. If Dumbledore still thought there was a chance, then by golly Sirius would fight for it until his seven death in hell!

James had made that expression up: seventh death in hell. Remus and Peter never understood it, but Sirius did. He supposed it was only to be understood by true brothers. He had taken to it since James promised to fight Snake-Boy to his seven death in hell.

Sirius battled down another fresh wave of grief. _Focus!_ he screamed silently. _Focus on Harry!_

It had been two days, Sirius surmised, since the paper was printed. He had gotten it this morning. He had been starving himself since. He couldn't fit through the tight iron bars that guarded his freedom--his promise, his duty…and Harry's safety.

He supposed that in a week, he would be skinny enough to squeeze through.

He would be on his way soon enough.

* * *

Snitch watched his 18-year-old sister-Lion. Zilly. Wouldn't want to spark her temper, that's where she got her name from: Godzilla. The carrot-top monster that could smash cities when provoked. 

Best not to provoke her.

Snitch wrinkled his forehead as his eyes followed his sister darting to and fro, getting ready for work at the gas station ten blocks away. She couldn't find her left shoe in the mess of raggedy clothes and blankets strewn across the old wooden floor of the warehouse.

Mouse was down with another cold, snoozing on the floor with a bucket next to his head just in case. Mac was helping Zilly search for the shoe, but keeping a look-out for any spare change he could use to purchase his favorite treat: the BigMac, from McDonald's restaurant.

Snitch pretended to be asleep, reluctant to leave what he considered a comfortable bed (that was in reality a pile of what could have been a gutter woven into what resembled a blanket). His knee was sore, but blissfully painless compared to when the bullet was lodged in the bone. He hugged Oreo, his teddy bear, closer to him, remembering the memory of the kind woman in hand-made clothes…smiling warmly down on him, filling his heart with the warmth of love he had not experienced from anyone but Cat.

The love of a mother.

"_Snitch!_" Zilly hissed, nudging him with her sock-covered left foot. "I know yer awake! Get yer ass outta there and help me find my damn shoe!"

Snitch's eyes snapped open, and he jumped to his feet. With a hugely noticeable limp, he stumbled around the warehouse, searching for the shoe lest he invoke her terrible temper on this dreary morning.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. At least her temper was the same. So much had changed in the past couple weeks, he didn't have much stability to cling to.

But while her temper was the same, the frequency was not. Usually it was quite rare for her temper to be touched upon more than once a month by the Lions. But it had flared at least thrice in the past two weeks.

Zilly had screamed at Snitch to give up the search for Cat before he saw something he would regret--and, Snitch admitted reluctantly with a shudder, she was right--, and just yesterday she had actually kicked Mouse out of the warehouse for the night to spend a night sleeping in the alley outside! Mouse, despite his quiet demeanor, had somehow provoked her aggressiveness, and as a result he was shoved through the entrance window into the cooling night air. Snitch had gone out to spend the night with him, as Zilly absolutely refused to let him back in that night, and Mac stayed inside to protect Zilly (one street-kid staying alone was too dangerous and foolish to take any chances with).

Snitch found the dratted shoe and chucked it playfully at her head, trying to lighten the depressing mood that had fallen upon the gang that called themselves the Lions.

Alas, it was the wrong move.

Slapping on her shoe, she marched Snitch right out into the hallway, shutting the broken door behind her so she wouldn't disturb the sleeping Mouse (however much she was tempted to, Mouse's health was at stake, and that was not an option). She shoved Snitch up against the wall and hit him upside the head, knocking it against the wall.

"Don' mess with me, Snitch," she hissed. "I ain't in the mood. I'm workin' two jobs here, tryin' to deal with Mouse gettin' sick, Mac stealing my money from right under my nose--"

"Why don' you--" Snitch tried to offer his advice, but Zilly wouldn't allow it.

"I ain't got no proof, stupid!" she snapped. "Ya know the code, no proof, no blame!"

Snitch did know the unwritten Code of Laws the street urchins chose (or did not choose) to live by…that didn't mean he had to like all of them, though.

"Yeah, yeah, I getcha," he mumbled.

"No, ya don' got me!" she shoved him against the wall again in frustration. "Ya ain'tnever gonna get it, got it?" She would never get through to those kids! She was a bloody teenager for pity's sake, not a patient mother of three! But that's what role Fate had shoved her sorry ass into, and that's what she would have to live with.

Sometimes--more often than ever before--she thought it would just be easier to…give up.

She threw him against the wall one last time, walking away and leaving a little boy bubbling over with guilt and self-blame in his tiny heart.

The tiny--fragile--heart of a child.

* * *


	17. Sissie, Prissie Panties

**Chapter Seventeen: Sissie, Prissie Panties  
**

_MASS MURDERER ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN!_

_Sirius Black, who was convicted of killing twelve Muggles and a wizard named Peter Pettigrew with a single curse, escaped yesterday from Azkaban prison—the first escape from Azkaban in recorded history._

_A distraught Cornelius Fudge was found by reporters in his office, in a state of panic. From the jumbled answers he gave press, Daily Prophet reporters concluded that the public is urged to express extreme caution. Black is believed to have armed himself, and is obviously dangerous._

_Azkaban prisoners have been known to go mad within weeks and months. Black has been in prison since the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, five years ago. Fudge revealed that the guards of Azkaban (Dementors) believed Black to have crossed into insanity even before he was arrested for thirteen counts of murder._

_Fudge also plans to let the Muggle world know of the escaped prisoner. The Muggle Prime-Minister knows of the Wizarding world for safety and political reasons, but he will not let the public Muggle population know of Black's heritage. They will be informed that a dangerous convict is on the loose, and be advised to be weary of scraggly strangers._

_The House-Elves who set the food in Azkaban let authorities know that Black had suddenly stopped eating his meals about a week ago. The set-out plates of food had been untouched until the day of his escape, when curiously enough the dinner Black had been given was missing—plate and all. Officials believe that Black took the food with him, which proves to be a strange antic, seeing as how he seemed to have been starving himself for no apparent reason: Why should he suddenly start eating again as he escapes?_

_Reporters asked if Black could have starved his body to become thin enough to slide through the bars of the cell he was held in. Bryan Roach, president of Azkaban security, scoffed, telling reporters that it is virtually impossible for that of a human body—however thin—to fit through the bars._

_"Even if it was possible to fit," Roach said, "the Dementors were placed right outside his particular cell for maximum security." Fudge then butt into the conversation, throwing in the comment: "Yes, that worked __quite __well didn't it, __Roach!"_

_Many are now questioning if, in light of the recent broaches in the responsibilities of the Ministry, with the loss of the Boy-Who-Lived and now the first escapee the world has seen from Azkaban, Fudge's mental state might be unfit for continuing his job as Minister of Magic._

_"Pressure and stress on the mind and body is bound to have some negative affects, both for the victim and the people of our world," an anonymous Psychologist commented, after Fudge and Roach's meeting with the press._

_With the presumed death of the young savior of our world, little Harry Potter who brought down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we were all devastated. But now our physical safety is at stake. Black is deadly if crossed._

_Now the question on everybody's minds is: What next will the incapability of the Ministry bring to the Wizarding world?_

_

* * *

_

"Snitch,"

"Look!"

"Snitch, please, I must—"

"Look at it go!"

"Child, you must listen to me..."

"I ain't never done this before!" Snitch giggled. "'ave you?" He didn't look at all interested in whether or not Dumbledore had done "this" before, he was having enough fun just laughing and following the kite in the perfect breeze.

"Snitch, please listen! We haven't much time, only until one of us wakes!" Dumbledore pleaded with him, holding his hyper little body in place by the shoulders. He turned him around to look him in the eyes.

This was important.

But Snitch didn't care. It was a dream, right? And when he was dreaming, it was his turn to get away from all the worries of the world. And those scrawny little brats with perfect homes, tucked up in big warm beds, could have terrifying nightmares for all he cared. It was his turn to be a carefree child.

And that old butt-face was ruining it with his worried eyes.

"Shut it, stupid, I'm tryin' tuh play here!" he said, pushing Dumbledore's hands off his shoulders and turning back to the wonderful colorful kite the nice magical field had given him to play with.

But it was gone!

"No!" he screamed. "Bring it back!" he stomped his foot for emphasis. He made sure to stomp extra hard on the wheat field that gave then took away gifts.

"Harry!" Dumbledore started again. Snitch rolled his eyes, whipping around and crossing his arms defiantly.

"I ain't _Harry_, I'm _Snitch_!" he said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "Stupid-head..." he mumbled, turning around again as if expecting to see his beloved kite again.

He didn't.

"Damnit!"

"Excuse me!" Dumbledore said in a scolding voice, momentarily forgetting the vital information he was about to relay to the naive little boy, and instead taking over his ever-lasting role as a grandfatherly-Headmaster.

"What?" Snitch looked up at him with adorably curious eyes.

_Well, as long as I have his attention..._

"Snitch, child, listen to me," he said. Snitch sighed in annoyance, but didn't turn away. "I'm afraid you are in grave danger..."

* * *

"So yer sayin'..." Snitch said, wrinkling his nose in the cute way little kids do when they try to figure something out. "Yer sayin', that this bozo was buds with my parents at school..." 

"Yes,"

"...what kinda school?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"There are differ'nt kinds of schools, dummy!" Snitch said exasperatedly. It was so tiring trying to get simply little facts through to "wise" old men that looked like Santa Claus. "Like Prim'ry, High, and univers'ties," he had a bit of difficulty wrapping his tongue around those big and generally unused words, but he figured he sounded like a genius—after all, that old man was a _Headmaster_ and he didn't even know there were other schools!

"Ah, yes, well the school is a special one indeed..."

_Crap!_ Snitch thought to himself, _He's gonna go on and on about that stupid school of his! Great goin'!_

"It's called a boarding school. Children ages eleven to seventeen attend it, but it's not like any of the schools you mentioned. The children and teachers learn, sleep, eat, shower, and relieve themselves—"

_...goin' on and on and on..._

"--in the school. They literally _live_ within the walls of the school..."

_...and on and on..._

"...anyway, I believe we're getting a bit off topic—"

_You started it._

"Wait..." Snitch said, wrinkling his forehead.

"Yes?"

"Do they wear uniferms?"

"Uniferms? I believe you mean _uniforms_, child," Dumbledore said, completely oblivious to the boy's silent mockery of him, imitating his words with a horribly stretched face.

"Yeah, whatever," he waved the correction away like a bug in his face. "So they wear 'em? I heard of those kinda kids. They ain't nothin' but sissies!"

"Now I wouldn't say that—"

"But I would say it. I did say it! You cain't honestly think a little prissy-panties-boy is gonna hurt me just 'cause he told some guy where my parents lived. He ain't tough, the guy who killed 'em was tough! 'e did all the dirty work, and this Black guy ain't gonna stand a chance if he picks a fight with _me!_" Snitch puffed out his chest proudly.

Dumbledore massaged his temples as he turned away from the conceited six-year-old boy.

"You do not understand," he said wearily.

"Sure I do!" Snitch protested. "You think this chicken-boy is gonna beat me up in a fight if 'e finds me!"

Dumbledore could do nothing but nod his frustrated head.

"Well, first, 'e's gotta live long 'nough to come and find me. He ain't gonna cut it out where I live! Then 'e's gotta find me, and if I don' want'cha to find me, ya ain't gonna! Then, if there's a miracle—and there ain't many miracles where I am!—and he does find me, I'll kick 'is skinny ass!" he jumped and kicked the air, putting his fists up like a boxer as he punched an imaginary enemy. "You messin' with da wrong kid, Blackie!" he said to his opponent, jumped from foot to foot like a professional fighter. "Yer goin' down!"

With great joy, Snitch changed antics and tackled the old man to the ground, pinning him face first into the fresh-smelling wheat beneath him. Snitch made sure to rub his crooked nose real good in the dirt to prove his point.

Laughing insanely, Snitch jumped off of Dumbledore, running off. He was still fighting the invisible "Blackie" that dared to try to pick on him. If the situation wasn't so grave, Dumbledore might have felt sorry for Black, to have an excited and rowdy little kid on his tail with the determined intent to annoy the hell out of him was not something for the weak of heart, spirit, and mind to endure.

He sighed. He would never get through to him. He didn't understand danger until the full picture was staring him in the face. That was when he faced down his opponent...or found a brother, sister, or mother that had tried to do the same, face down in the gutter.

Such naïveté was the mind of every little child.

Dumbledore looked up to find Snitch had stopped in his tracks, looking around him curiously.

* * *

Snitch paused in the celebration of his imaginary victory over the spoiled rich kid that _thought_ he was tough, when he heard a curious sound. 

Crying.

A girl was crying somewhere, but as far as Snitch could see there were no girls in the field. Just him and an old coot he had tackled.

His vision of the field was getting hazy; it swam before his eyes before swirling into blackness.

* * *

The field and Dumbledore were gone, and in its place was the familiar sight of his old warehouse, what the Lions called "The House." 

He lifted his head slightly to see his sister, Zilly, facing the far wall, her back to him and the other two boys. Her back was shaking slightly, and short little gasps of air were coming from her mouth. A tiny whimpering sound emanated from her throat, tugging at his heart.

Zilly had been quite tart with him lately, treating him with the up-most contempt ever since the shoe incident. Snitch had heard from Mac the expression: "Must be that time o' month!" He didn't know exactly what it meant, but he figured it would do for now.

Snitch hesitated; he didn't want to upset her further, especially during this part of the month. Then he slowly and quietly got to his feet, gathering his new warm blanket in his hands and padding his way across the old wood floor. He knelt by her side and gently draped the blanket around her shoulders.

A sharp gasp of surprise came from her lips, but when she saw it was Snitch she turned back to looking at the floor through her tear-filled eyes, clutching the blanket to her like a life-line. Snitch awkwardly patted her back.

Looking at his broken sister, he realized just how much was placed on her shoulders—with only a blanket to comfort her. She had had to take over all the responsibility that she, her twin Gumbi, B.G., and Cat had all shared. All too soon. She was only eighteen years old, barely an adult legally but still looked down upon by society as a child. With her lack of education, she couldn't find, much less hold, a decent job to pay for food and clothing for three growing boys. Snitch realized how much he owed Zilly, and had only caused further problems for her with his spunky attitude and excess energy—even with that dratted limp, he still managed to bounce all over the place after a long night's sleep and a decent meal by street standards. All contributed to the pressure and stress weighing on Zilly's mind and body.

It couldn't feel good.

Snitch suddenly found himself hugging her neck, pressing his face into her grimy red hair.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear, "fer ever'thin'..."


	18. Parental Freaks

**Chapter Eighteen: Parental Freaks**

Months past, as did Christmas. The Lions exchanged what they could. Snitch gave Mac a stolen cheeseburger—still hot!—and he gave Mouse brand spanking new turtle-neck shirt (also stolen). He gave Zilly the money he picked from the pocket of a business man, so there were plenty of notes. He threw away the credit cards though—those could be dangerous, they were always traced once reported stolen! He didn't often steal money, just when they needed it.

January came alarmingly quickly. Snitch, Mac, Mouse, and Zilly now slept huddled tightly together, snuggling in for warmth from body heat and blankets. The House didn't have heating at all. Winters were terrible.

But on the bright side, at least they had somewhere to sleep. Cat had explained every winter to Snitch that the Lions were extremely lucky. Only one gang (the Hawks) knew where they lived, and their brother gang would never betray them. As long as other gangs didn't come snooping around the wrong corners, they could continue living in their old warehouse.

Snitch asked once why they didn't go to one of those nice warm shelters, with cots and blankets, and free meals! But she shook her head sadly. She told him the people working there would tear their family apart, and put them in orphanages and foster-homes. Being separated was bad, but to be sent to somewhere to live with other Norm-children, with stupid rules and regulations, and even more stupid consequences—the annoyance would drive any street-bred kid insane.

Snitch remembered explaining the same thing to Dumbledore. That coot was still bugging him in his dreams. But that was okay. Sure, the old bugger was annoying, but he meant well. And he had actually helped Snitch quite a few times when he was having a particularly rough day or if he was just feeling down (most especially about Cat, but also B.G., and Gumbi).

Snitch contemplated Dumbledore's bits of advice: Cat was out of this world...and hadn't Snitch just said the other day how "shitty" the world is? Sure, he couldn't see her anymore but in the Afterlife Cat was looking down upon Snitch, watching over her cub. She was safe and sound, away from the dangers and hardships life had been so fond of throwing at her.

B.G. had been just as stressed as Zilly was taking to be. He was the head of the family; his ultimate responsibility was the safety and wellbeing of his family. He didn't show his feelings past his stony face, but in his actions. He left no room for argument against his better-knowing decisions, and that stance had saved the lives of the Lions too many times to count.

Gumbi had accomplished his unspoken life-long goal: to bring a bit of joy into the lives of his friends. He loved to pester his twin, Zilly, and the kids loved to watch her mock-temper-explosion, in which she pretended to rip Gumbi's head off and throw it to the dogs.

It was even funnier when the pretend-dogs wouldn't eat the head.

Gumbi had kept their spirits up, and if Snitch gave up hope and high spirits altogether, he would be insulting Gumbi's memory and destroying what the young man had worked so hard to get at. A smile.

Snitch liked to smile. Even if he wasn't particularly happy, it made him feel good. The others looked at him like he had just given birth to a duck when he smiled for no reason, especially when times were depressing.

Snitch smiled now. He was wondering the alleyways and shortcuts as he searched for food...however, the search for food was hard enough with full concentration. Poor Snitch was more busy spending time in his thoughts than a one-eyed cat watching two mouse holes.

He had heard that cat and mouse thing on a radio station once.

He was digging through an icy-cold trash bag when he heard a sound behind him. A sound like a sniffle... He knew it was no natural-city sound, it was from a human. And nobody was supposed to be with him.

That meant trouble.

Without a second thought he grabbed his knife from his pocket, flipped it open, and whipped around. In a moment he had the intruder pushed up against the brick wall of one building, a steely blade to his throat.

Something stopped Snitch from slamming the kid's head against the wall, effectively knocking out almost any opponent. It was his clothes.

They were new.

No native (that is, from the streets) kid's clothes are new...Mouse had a shirt, but not an entire outfit.

The jeans were crisp and designer-tagged; the shoes were a bit too large and wide but made with a nice velvety-fabric (the fashion in various parts of the world); the shirt was almost shiny, and was nondescript in texture, obviously too expensive for the average Joe to wear on a regular basis.

This kid was rich.

Snitch's first thought was to demand his wallet, but he only looked to be about ten years old. If he even had a wallet, there wouldn't be much money in it.

And anyway, he looked like he had enough problems on his mind...however much Snitch would enjoy giving a Norm what he faced everyday, it wouldn't be right. Cat would not have liked it at all.

Snitch dropped the Norm to the dirty ground—he couldn't hurt him. What was he going to do, toss his custom-cushioned shoes at his head?

_Ha, I think not._

"W'as yer name?" he said, raising his chin in a calculating way. He studied the boy. He had long-ish black hair tired back in a small sleek ponytail at the nape of his neck. The shirt was a little large on him, and as it fell below the collar bone Snitch could see various shades of harsh-looking bruises. He had that generally ruffled look about him, however clean-cut his hair was, like he made it a habit to get into scuffles but try to hide the fact that his sorry arse lost every single time.

Snitch laughed.

The kid looked at him like he was crazy. Snitch shoved his knife in his face again and repeated his question. "W'as—yer—name?" he said slowly.

"Keiko,"

"Kay-koe?" Snitch said. _What a weird name...his parents are freaks,_ he decided.

"No," the kid had a weird accent. It was thick and definitely there, but Snitch couldn't place the nationality, however much time he was around the many tourists that flock London. He had never really gotten the hang of placing nationalities, and had taken loads of worthless money that would never work in England...at least not for a homeless six-year-old.

"Then _what?_" Snitch repeated. Seriously, was the kid so royal that he had to have a prompt to answer obvious un-asked questions?

"Keh—ee—koe," he said. "Keiko."

"Keh...ee...cow!" Snitch said carelessly. He wasn't honestly interested in his name, why couldn't they get over this and move on to bigger and more useful things—like what the hell was he doing sneaking up behind him?

"—koe!" the Asian-looking boy said, still uptight but apparently also getting frustrated.

"—koe! Keh-ee-koe, Keiko!" Snitch snapped. "There, ya happy?"

Keiko cocked his head curiously.

_Geeze!_ Snitch thought. _Can't he understand English?_

Snitch looked up at Keiko, who looked back at him with almond-shaped eyes, a curious and alarmed glint flashing in their black depths.

Snitch poked him in the arm, as if testing his authenticity.

"Yer weird," he stated bluntly.

"You are...werr...wurrd..." Keiko tried to repeat. Snitch shoved him back against the wall, pointing the knife at his throat.

"You mockin' me!" he said dangerously. Keiko looked terrified, attempting to push Snitch away but instead squeaking in pain when Snitch held his knee in a male's best friend and worst enemy...

Ouch.

Keiko whimpered pitifully, but Snitch didn't back off.

"_You_—_mockin'_—_me_!" he repeated.

"M-M-Mockin'?"

"Yeah, 'mockin'', stupid! Makin' fun o' me! Insultin' me!" Snitch pushed a little harder on the forbidden spot. Keiko gasped, he looked like he might be sick. Snitch was glad his reflexes were fast—he wouldn't back down unless a wave of vomit was hurtling towards his face, and by that time he would have dived to safety.

"I-I-Insult? You?"

"_Did you insult me?"_ Snitch said slowly. Keiko shook his head vigorously, gulping down bubbles of polluted air as he tried to manage the pain down under.

"No! No, no, no, no, _NO!_" Keiko screamed into Snitch's face. Snitch backed off in surprise and Mr. Asian-boy crumpled to the ground, gasping for air and holding his precious family-making-package.

Ouch.

Keiko was muttering a stream of harsh sounding words in a language Snitch couldn't quite place...

_Let's see here...black hair, black eyes...yellow skin...what's that on his shirt? Umm...what's the diff' between Chinese and Japanese? ...and that funky Egypt-writing?_

Snitch scratched his head in confusion. He was stumped as to where this kid was from. He was only six, after all.

Keiko seemed to have caught his breath but still stayed in his crouching position—perhaps he thought Snitch might go away if he stayed down long enough.

Wrong.

This guy was interesting, and people Snitch took an interest in were hard to come by.

He was keeping him, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

**A/N:** I wanted this to be longer but I'm so unbelievably tired. Guess what I did for you all reading? I passed up a chance to go to my best friend's house because I knew I needed to get this chapter out, and I was too tired to pass up a nap as well. I could have taken a nap and gone to her house, forget the chapter...but I made a SACRIFICE...and watched Bambi while I fell asleep instead... 


	19. Basic English

**Chapter Nineteen: Basic English**  
_Dedicated to Starr33 for the following reasons: 1. recommending dedicated chapters, 2. sending a freakin' awesome review, and 3. having the same name as my aunt (Starr) :)

* * *

_

Keiko didn't know how on earth he came to be in this situation.

A strange little boy—dirty from head to toe—was babbling in English, dragging him by the arm through what seemed liked miles of narrow alleyways littered with garbage and rats in the depths of London, England.

Keiko smiled in amusement when the kid laughed...he had no idea what had been said, but he enjoyed hearing laughter for once. He never heard any at home. Really, though, he didn't mind where he was being taken. Anywhere was better than with whom he was disgraced to call his parents.

"We're call'd da Lions," Snitch was saying now. "_ROAR_!" he said, startling his new friend.

Keiko understood basic English, but it was the funny accent that had him all turned around. Snitch would leave out important words in his sentences, chop his remaining words apart, and pronounce them incorrectly...how was he supposed to keep up? He was ten years old and only learned what English the schools in Japan taught him—not much without a private tutor.

If Snitch would only just slow down...both in language and in pursuit of their destination. Keiko was panting to keep up with the little guy. Did he do this every day?

"...and yer gonna come with me and meet 'em. Don' worry, they'll love ya!"

Love. Keiko understood that word. At least in translation he understood it...

* * *

"Ya guys, this is Kay-ko!" Snitch introduced a bewildered and tired Keiko to the Lion crew. He didn't even try to correct him on his pronunciation of what was obviously supposed to be his name. He didn't know what to say...he had never met any English-speaking-native his age before...in fact, he rarely spent time around anybody his age! 

There was a long awkward silence.

"Don' 'e talk?" Mac suddenly butt in. Zilly hit him on the shoulder for his lack of manners.

"Well..." Snitch looked up at Keiko calculatingly. "I ain't sure...I think he understands a li'l bit of English..."

_Now that's better!_ Keiko thought. Snitch's words were slow, and he could get the gist of what was being said.

"Y-Yes, English..." he stuttered. Did he get that right? What if he didn't? What if the message didn't come across clear enough...it was just two words; would they understand what he was trying to say? Would they think him a freak?

"Ya see!" Snitch said, grimacing slightly but trying to look proud. "'e speaks English jus' fine!"

Zilly leaned back on her hip and crossed her arms over her chest, examining Keiko's appearance. She seemed to come to the same conclusion Snitch had—he was a Norm. They couldn't have a Norm in their House!

"Stop kiddin' yerself, Snitch. The kid don' hardly understand a word what we're sayin'!" she said coldly.

"Sure 'e does!" Snitch protested. "Don'tcha, buddy?" he said, turning to Keiko. Keiko gave him a lost look.

"Yes, English..." was all he could think of to say. He mentally slapped himself for being so idiotic.

"'e only knows two words, Snitch!" Zilly insisted. "How are we s'posed to talk tuh 'im, if he ain't gonna talk back? Hmm?"

"Mouse don' never talk but we still keep him 'round!" Snitch stomped his foot stubbornly. He wanted to keep his new friend around. He had it all worked out: Keiko would stay with his parents for half the day, then meet up with Snitch and spend the rest of the day with him...it would work out, he was sure of it.

"Mouse don' got no place else t'go, Snitch!" Zilly argued loudly, gesturing quite rudely to a blushing Mouse.

Snitch murmured to himself, "Yeah, but that didn' stop ya from kickin' 'im out for the night last year..."

"What was that?" Zilly said dangerously, taking an intimidating step forward. Keiko wisely stepped back, but Snitch—even with all his street sense—stood his ground.

Stubborn street pride.

"Nothin'!" Snitch said quickly when he caught the look on Zilly's face, warning him of an impending Godzilla-explosion of temper.

...sort of stubborn...

Keiko grabbed Snitch's arm, pulling him back to safety. Would this red-haired pale demon hurt them? Beat them, maybe? No, he wouldn't have that. He'd had enough of that.

"Snitch," Zilly continued, "we got 'nough t'do, we ain't got time or energy t'go 'round en'ertainin' little foreign kids that don' understand—"

"But he does—"

"No, Snitch. Take 'im back to his family." Zilly ordered firmly. Keiko jumped at the word "family" but otherwise made no indication that he understood what was happening.

Snitch sighed and took him by the sleep, careful not to grab his bruise-covered arm like he had when he dragged him down here.

* * *

He led him carefully up and out of the warehouse and through the maze of alleys. Finally Keiko got up the nerve to ask the disappointed child what was burning on his mind. 

"Where?"

"We're goin' t'yer fam'ly," he answered. "Wher'ever da hell that is..." he added to himself. "I s'pose you can find yer way once I put'choo back where I found ya."

"...I-I don't understand—"

"We—are—going—to—your—family!" Snitch ground out frustratingly. He was angry enough that he couldn't keep him, but now the boy still refused to understand what was being said.

But apparently he had finally gotten through to him. Keiko stopped dead in his tracks, paling considerably, the amused glint in his eyes disappeared like food placed in front of Mac.

"My family?" he asked cautiously.

"_Yes!_" Snitch nodded, annoyed.

"No,"

"What?" did he hear wrong? Did Keiko just _refuse_ to go back to his family? There was so much wrong with that, he didn't know where to begin.

"No!" Keiko repeated. "I will not go to my family!"

_Why the hell didn't he start talking like that back at the House? We wouldn't have this little problem!_

"So ya can talk! I knew it!" Snitch smiled appreciating. Keiko's face did not reflect his, though. It was tight with alarm and—fear? "Wassamatter?"

Keiko just shook his head and ran like lightning.

* * *

**A/N:** This is short, but I'm working hard to get Keiko's character right. Lots of dialogue that isn't supposed to be perfect in here, and the many different accents are starting to become questionable in my eyes...what do you think? Am I getting them right or are they too hard to read and/or are annoying? 


	20. Don't Panic!

**Chapter Twenty: Don't Panic  
**_Dedication: Patriot Girl for typing this up for me._

Snitch blinked in surprise.

"What the…?" he said to himself in confusion, watching Keiko's tense and quickly retreating back.

Snitch snapped into focus seconds after Keiko rounded the far corner, heading deeper into the labyrinth of alleyways, apartment buildings, and cheap restaurants.

"Kay-ko," he shouted after him, "wait!"

But the fast-fading sound of footsteps echoing of brick walls only hastened. Snitch's cemented feet finally started working again, and he chased after him in hot pursuit. There were seen and unseen dangers that Keiko was walking—running, actually—foolishly into. Snitch couldn't let any harm befall his new friend—they only just met, but he'd be damned if he lost another to the horrors of the streets.

"STOP!" he cried desperately, losing sight of the agile youth. "Please…" he whispered more to himself than anyone else. His brain was telling him to just give up, Keiko was already too far into the maze of deadly dangers for Snitch to stand a good chance of finding him alive.

He had learned that lesson when he found Cat.

But something within him pushed him on, something made him battle Keiko's chances. He forced his tired legs to carry on, and as his sore feet pounded the pavement, he whispered desperate prayers to the God that seemed to have forgotten of his very existence thus far.

"Please, God, please! I can't lose another, not now!" he raised his green eyes towards the heavens, as though searching for some sign that his prayers were heard.

He saw nothing but the gray, unforgiving, wintery sky. The smog pressed down heavily upon him. It was constricting his chest, filling his lungs with an unbreathable substance. He couldn't breathe it, and he wouldn't breathe until Keiko was safe. His heart was racing, his veins were pulsing audibly, and he vaguely remembered falling to the cold, hard ground, his panicked mind clouding over and drowning of unconsciousness.

* * *

Dumbledore rubbed his weary eyes, feeling a little tug of worry at the back of his old, wise mind. Worry for what, he was not sure. But he had a hunch that it might have something to do with a certain bright-eyed, dirty-faced street waif of a child. 

Over the years, this old had learned to trust whatever hunch Fate chose to throw his way.

Maybe, if Lady Luck was on his side, he could doze off into the magical wheat field he and Snitch shared in their dreams, and with that luck, he might find Snitch there as well.

And besides, he was tired… he could use a little nap.

* * *

Keiko found himself still running, gasping for air, deeper into the brick-and-garbage maze. Strange sounds flooded his strained ears as his legs finally seized up, forcing him to slow down to a stop. He heard stray cats and dogs hissing, barking, and howling at each other. Loud music blasted, the steady vibrations rattling his bruised and beaten ribcage. Car horns blared and mufflers malfunctioned in the distance. 

A tiny one-way street that was probably never used anymore was visible in the dimming twilight. Keiko forced his stiff legs towards the miniature street—which is in its days of use could barely squeeze an old car through—and finally dropped to his scabby knees, shivering in the freezing air.

He leaned forward on his belly and flipped over on top of his back, staring at the polluted sky above. He didn't regret his split-second decision to run away from that crazy little boy—Snitch, was his name?

_What a strange name,_ he thought, momentarily losing focus of the problem (or, better put, _problems_) at hand. _I wonder what his parents were thinking when they named him…_

Keiko snorted at the irony:

_Well, I guess I have no room to talk,_ his thoughts continued bitterly,_ when my _parents_ gave me a _girl's_ name!_

* * *

Keiko must have drifted off to sleep on that broken craggy asphalt, because when he opened his eyes again the sky was dark and a lone street light flickered on and off next to him. 

The reason for his awakening soon became apparent. A throng of baggy-clothed teenagers made their way down the street, talking loudly and without the extreme caution Snitch used, though they were obviously street-bred.

Keiko jumped to his feet and backed up against the brick wall of the apartment building behind him. He pressed his back hard against the bricks, as though he could melt and blend in. He wished with all his heart that he was invisible as he watched—wide-eyed—the dangerous looking group get closer.

At the back of his mind, he vaguely registered that every member of the crew closing in had a tattoo on their forearm.

A tattoo of a dragon.

* * *

"Just take it slow, child," Dumbledore said soothingly to the hyperventilating boy before him. "Breathe." 

"I—I—I c-cain't!" Snitch managed to say through his distress. "N-Not with K-Keh…Kay-ko out there all 'lone!"

"He'll be fine," Dumbledore lied.

Snitch had explained to him the distressing situation before he lapsed into a full-fledged panic-attack.

"No, 'e won'!" Snitch screamed. "It's gotta be night by now! _You_ say I'm layin' in da street _dead_—"

"—unconscious," Dumbledore corrected.

"—whatever, old man! I cain't help 'im when I'm here in dis field!" Snitch paused when a look of absolute terror fell upon his face. "Oh, no…" he said, gazing into space with a mortified stare.

"What is it?" Dumbledore inquired gently and cautiously.

"The Dragons," Snitch whispered.

"Pardon?"

"The Dragons," Snitch clarified. "They're a gang, the most dang'rous gang on the streets," he explained. He got a far away look in his eyes. "They kill jus' fer fun. They killed my brothers, B.G. an' Gumbi…" he spoke softly and ducked his head (whether for respect or to hide his emotions, Dumbledore was not certain).

"They're always lookin' fer a fight," Snitch continued, angrily this time. "'specially with Norms. They like pickin' on 'em, and when yer picked on by the Dragons, ya don' come out alive. An' if yer a Norm, there ain't no hidin' it, even if ya see 'em comin'."

Unsure of what to say, Dumbledore asked, "Well, what do they look like? How would you know when they are coming?"

"They all gotta get a tattoo of a dragon before they can join the gang."

* * *

**A/N:** Big thanks to Patriot Girl for typing up most of this for me after I wrote it out on paper. 


	21. Lose Your Dignity to a Dog

**Chapter Twenty-One: Lose Your Dignity to a Dog  
**_Dedicated to: serpentinexsin for sending some great reviews and being one of the first to reply to almost every chapter._

Keiko held his breath, afraid the nasty looking group might hear him breathe. He should have been more focused on the fact that he was standing right under a lamp, flooding his skin with flickering orange light.

His eyes were shut tight, as though if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him.

Sadly this didn't work.

"Hey, who's da kid?"

* * *

"We gotta save 'im!" Snitch screamed. 

"We cannot do a thing, child," Dumbledore said softly.

"Yes, we can! Just get me outta here!" he shouted up at the empty sky in the wheat field they were trapped in. No matter how far he ran, he would always be in the same spot. He couldn't get out.

"No, we cannot."

"Yes!"

"No."

"I SAID, 'YES!'" Snitch kicked Dumbledore hard in the shins, bringing the elderly man to his knees. Snitch grabbed his beard hard and stuck his face in front of his nose. "You get it?" he said slowly and clearly. Dumbledore looked at the child (who was now eye-level) pityingly. Snitch caught the look and kneed him in the gut, but as usual Dumbledore didn't feel it in the pain-free dream.

But that didn't stop Snitch from trying to beat the snot out of him.

With every word, he slammed a foot, knee, fist, or elbow into the old man angrily.

"I--will--find--'im--an'--'e--will--be--jus'--fine--you--ol'--fool!" throwing one last blow to his half-moon glasses (and knocking them off in the process), he stormed away.

Dumbledore pulled himself up to his feet and stared silently after Snitch. He sighed. It was regrettable, but he couldn't do a thing about it, and neither could Snitch.

Dumbledore wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that this strange magical wheat field had the power to draw them into it's depths at will. He doubted that--panicked though he was--Snitch would have feinted into the dream at that convenient timing. And what about his hunch? He had been chatting with Fawkes when he had that strong feeling before he decided to take a nap to hopefully visit Snitch…could it be that these shared visions were possibly controlling them in some way or another?

He wasn't sure if he was happy with that. He didn't feel comfortable in situations that he had no control over.

But then again he needn't be so ungrateful of these useful but slightly frightening "dreams"…after all, if it weren't for the power of the field, he would be in extreme amounts of pain right now thanks to the little munchkin running away from him now.

* * *

"Stupid old man an' 'is stupid shriveled up brain…" Snitch growled moodily, kicking a patch of wheat. 

Wheat wheat wheat! That's all he saw for a million miles! Well, he was sick of it. He thought he was sick of being in that God forsaken city, but now he would do anything to be in it, searching for and rescuing Keiko. He could imagine it now…

He would search desperately, then suddenly hear a panicked shout in the distance. Instantly knowing who and where it came from, he would rush off to jump into the chaotic scene just in time. Keiko would be surrounded by the Dragons, and Snitch would take them all on single handedly…pulling acrobatic moves and making Dragons fall to the ground left and right…

Yes, it was glorious.

But Snitch ripped himself from his selfish thoughts. _What the hell am I doin'? Keiko is out there somewhere, alone an' defenseless…and dumb. He cain't understand a word o' English, how is 'e supposed to survive? An' I'm sittin' here on my bum, daydreaming!_

"LET ME OUTTA HERE!" he bellowed despairingly at the empty field.

But he knew it was hopeless.

* * *

"An' who're you?" a mean voice ground out. Keiko didn't understand, the accent tore up the words too much for him to respond correctly. 

"I-I-I d-do n-n-not under-st-stand…?" he whispered, sinking to the ground while cornered up against the wall by the tough group of street urchins surrounding him.

"What'd'ya mean, ya don' understand?" the young man, who must have been six times larger than Keiko, grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and yanked him up off the ground, his feet flailing uselessly in the air, desperate to get down.

"N-N-No…" Keiko whimpered hopelessly. The man shook him roughly and Keiko could already feel the bruises forming on his neck.

"Well?" the man insisted, glaring.

"No…no…English…" Keiko squeaked. This man was reminding him too much of his own father…except dirtier.

"No English, eh?" the man said, glancing over his shoulder and smirking at his buddies. "Well then." He turned back to the ten year old boy he held by the neck. "This'll be fun." The boy didn't understand what the man was talking about, but by the hungry and violent look in his eyes, he could guess what was being said.

Keiko gave a pitiful whimper, closing his eyes for the blows he knew would come.

* * *

Padfoot slumped to the ground underneath a monstrous dumpster, feeling the exhaustion of several days' walking (swimming, running, and dog-style hitchhiking). He had made it from Azkaban to London, where the papers said Harry had been left. His ignorant mind shut out any bit of logic that pointed out that Harry was more than likely dead. 

No, he wouldn't think about that.

He had come here to find Harry, he wouldn't think about the overwhelming chance that the child _couldn't_ be found at all…no, he would just take it one step at a time, deal with that possibility _if_ he came to it. But he had long since decided that he would die before he stopped looking for Harry…and then he would continue his search, up above with Lily and James…

_Focus_, he thought. But his weary mind refused, and he found his eyelids drooping closed…

There was an ear-piercing shriek of agony, followed by several yelps of pain, causing Padfoot to bolt up, smacking his head on the bottom of the dumpster he was dozing under. He scurried out from underneath and raced towards the sound…his tired heart was pumping erratically with adrenaline, pulsing through his veins and pounding audibly in his ears. His legs were throbbing with new-found energy as he darted over rubbish bins, plowed through piles of garbage, and dashed around corners until he ran head-long into a crowd of dirty teenagers and young adults, all very formidable looking.

_Uh, oh_…was his only reaction to the gang of hoodlums, until he looked upon their victim.

A child.

The kid was beaten, scratched, slapped, punched, cut, and kicked. Blood was spurting from his nose and mouth, his lip was busted open, and his hands and arms were littered with new and old bruises. His black hair was plastered to his head in his own sticky blood. His teeth were chipped and Padfoot thought he could see one or two teeth on the ground by his mouth.

These monsters had beaten a _child_!

Padfoot had momentarily forgotten his godson, electing to help this little boy instead…at least for now. His stare-of-shock was interrupted with a swift kick to his own ribs, thin with starvation and now quite bruised thanks to the grumpy teenager glaring maliciously down on him. Without hesitation, Padfoot growled viciously and bit the teen around his ankle, locking his jaw and shaking his head roughly, tearing at the skin and bringing forth rivulets of blood flowing onto the asphalt ground.

"AAARGH!" the gang member screeched, throwing away his dignity for a gigantic dog on his leg. "Get dis thing off me!" the others started kicking and pulling on Padfoot, but he held fast. Finally, with one last jerk of the teeth, he leg the kid go and watched him scamper away. He snapped his jaws at the feet of the others, grinning when they backed up cautiously.

But then he saw one man pull out a strange device…black, sleek, and metallic…he had seen one before…but when the man pointed the barrel of the gun towards Padfoot, he suddenly remembered what it was, and the horrifying damage it caused. Lily had told him about it once.

Thinking fast (or perhaps not thinking at all), Padfoot shrank back and quickly recalled a familiar mental incantation…

And his body began to morph.


	22. Impossible Dreams

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Impossible Dreams  
**_Dedicated to: Nora D_

Padfoot morphed roughly (it had been awhile since he had done this last) into the form of a human. Sirius Black.

The man in front of him dropped his gun in shock, and as Sirius watched it fall to the ground he thought he was home free--no Muggle stood a chance against him without a gun or something equally deadly. But before he could beat the brains out of the man who had held the gun, a sudden foreboding feeling came over him. As he looked back down at the gun--still falling as if in slow motion--there was an instant of utter silence and the gun hit the ground and a little click was heard…then:

BANG!

The sound was ringing in his ears as he looked on in incomprehensible shock at the river of blood pumping out of his lower leg…then, as if a light went on, he suddenly understood what he was seeing.

A bullet was in his ankle.

And then the pain flood forth, and with a mind-boggling vengeance for the slow reaction. Too stunned to give much more than a grunt, Sirius toppled over to the ground and cradled his injury at an awkward angle under his palms. He looked up again with a total lost expression towards the man that had faced him, to find him trembling in fright and staring wide-eyed at Sirius. Momentarily regressing to a younger and more care-free stage, he whispered to the man, "boo!"

The man threw away what was left of his pride and ran screaming at the top of his lungs. With a mischievous smirk, Sirius noted that it was quite a high-pitched scream.

And then, with a gasp of pain, he fainted into a world of fiery agony.

* * *

Keiko watched the dog-turned-man without a word, choosing instead to keep his head on the ground and not draw unwanted attention to himself--and any attention from either the gang member or this strange dog-man was unwanted. 

He saw the Dragon-tattooed young man scamper off like a scared little puppy, while the much older and much more haunted man fell unconscious with a helpless gasp of air, still clutching his ankle as his body slumped forward on top of his knees.

Getting over the surprise of seeing a new species (dog-man) right before his eyes, Keiko's body threw the pain from his injuries back at him viciously. He gave a whimper of pain and terror--he felt as though the pain was so great this time that maybe it would be his last beating…he had always wished for his last beating, but he never wanted death to end the beatings. No, he didn't want to go out like this…but laces of pain were squeezing his chest intolerably tight, bolts of agony ran through his very veins and wrapped around his heart. He could feel the beating become irregular:

Ba-thump…thump…thump-thump…ba-ba-thump…

He tried to focus his mind on the beating of his heart--a simple and natural body function that he always relied upon to get away from the pain. But the irregularity of it was simply terrifying; it only solidified what he already knew was happening:

He was dying.

Slowly and ever-so-painfully, his body was shutting down. He could feel the life being suck out of him, as though a deadly mosquito was drawing it right out of his exhausted body. How did he go from thinking logically enough to hide his consciousness from the strange stranger, to fighting for what was left of his life? He didn't know. Maybe the pain and terror had already been there, but he had been to preoccupied to acknowledge its presence.

_Who cares?_ he though, gazing hazily up at the night sky. _What does it matter anymore? Just let it be over, make the pain go away…take me away to those beautiful stars I've always wished upon…_

_Take me away…_

Ba-thump…thump…

_Those stars…_

Thump…thump…

_So beautiful…_

Ba-thump…

_Please…_

Thump…

_Take me…_

…

* * *

Keiko's eyes snapped open. 

The first thing he noticed was that the pain was gone.

The second thing he noticed was that he was standing in an empty field…empty of anything but wheat, but somehow full of comfort.

The third thing he noticed was that he was standing right behind the kneeling form of a sobbing black-haired child.

Snitch.

Snitch gazed up at the sky, screaming something Keiko didn't understand. But he did recognize one little word…

"…Kay-ko…"

"Keh-ee-koe!" Keiko said with a knowing grin.

Snitch spun round with an almighty gasp of alarm, jumping to his feet and pulling out his trusty switchblade. He thrust the blade in Keiko's face, who stared at the deadly weapon cross-eyed.

Well, that's interesting.

He's obviously dead and yet he's being threatened with a deadly weapon…

Wait. If he was dead, that meant Snitch was dead too! But that didn't make any sense, he had seen him just minutes ago…no, that was hours ago. He remembered, he had fallen asleep for several hours before waking up to the Dragon-tattooed gangsters surrounding him. He had realized then just how dangerous and uncertain life on the streets was; Snitch may have been killed while Keiko was napping.

How sad.

Snitch had finally seemed to realize who exactly he was aiming the blade at, and Keiko found himself being hugged excessively tight round the middle by a giddy six year old.

Well, that's interesting too.

"Uhh…" Keiko said intelligently.

"Kay-ko! 'm so glad yer okay!" Snitch was saying (incomprehensible to Keiko) with his face pushed into Keiko's stomach, muffling his squeaky voice. He blubbered on and on, sometimes raising his tear-streaked face to gaze at Keiko as if making sure he was really there.

Then he gave a whoop of joy, punching his fist into the air and jumping about like a hyperactive monkey.

All the disturbance brought a crusty old man walking tall towards the two new friends. He had apparently walked for several minutes to cover the distance where he had been (unseen by Keiko) to where Snitch stood. Keiko wondered if Snitch knew he was in the field with them, as he hadn't seen him before…it wasn't as shocking to see an old-timer here in what appeared to be a field for souls of deceased ones as it had been to see Snitch here. Old people die all the time.

"Well, Snitch, who is this?" the old man asked curiously, looking Keiko's bruised and beaten (but quite painless) body up and down.

"Kay-ko!" Snitch answered enthusiastically. He gave another whoop for joy, this time giving the white-haired one a huge hug.

"Keh-ee-koe!" Keiko responded, glaring at Snitch in annoyance.

"Yeah, whatever!" Snitch shrugged, grinning happily.

"Keiko, it is a pleasure to meet you," the stranger said, holding out his hand for Keiko to shake. "I am Albus Dumbledore," he spoke very clearly, seeming to realize Keiko's lack of English education. Keiko nodded in thanks, giving him a grateful look for respecting his language yet not making him sound like a moron.

"Hello," Keiko responded.

"How old are you?" Dumbledore asked, gazing at his skinny elbows, knobby knees, and short height.

"Ten," Keiko felt quite proud of himself when Dumbledore nodded in understanding. He was managing to communicate with these people! Well, at least Dumbledore…Snitch and his fellow street urchins were another story.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, thinking deeply. "Do you live with your parents?" it seemed an odd question to ask, but with Snitch around and the bloody state of his clothing, Keiko supposed it made sense to ask such a question.

"No," he said firmly. He would never go back.

"Where did you get your clothing?" Dumbledore asked. This sentence, Keiko had a bit of trouble on. He gave Dumbledore a puzzled look. "Where did you get--" Dumbledore reached forward and tugged Keiko's expensive-for-the-average-person shirt, "this?"

"Oh!" Keiko gasped in embarrassment of his own stupidity of the language. "Family," he answered uncertainly.

"You said that you do not live with your family," Dumbledore countered. Snitch was looking at Keiko with mixed curiosity and suspicion--suspicion not towards Keiko, but at the situation Keiko was trying to explain.

"I do not live with family now."

"Why?"

"I am not welcome," Keiko shuffled his feet, staring at the ground in shame.

"Why?" Dumbledore repeated again, eyeing Keiko with a bit of sympathy for what he felt would come next from the child's mouth.

However, Snitch beat Keiko to the answer.

"It don' matter why'da hell he ain' welcome there!" Snitch said, stepping in front of Keiko protectively. He knew what it was like to be questioned by this loony old man, he would not let his new friend go through it as well…Dumbledore tended to be relentless.

"Snitch, child, I didn't ask you," Dumbledore scolded gently, putting his hand on Snitch's shoulder. Snitch shrugged it off roughly, pushing Dumbledore back a few paces.

"Ge'off me!" he growled angrily. "Leave 'im alone!" he said defensively, stepping further in front of a confused Keiko who had no idea what was being said by Snitch.

"Snitch, I think I should know what Keiko has to say," Dumbledore responded, his voice getting harder. "I will ask you to move now."

"Ya can ask all ya wanna, I ain' movin'," Snitch sassed. Dumbledore's wrinkled face frowned at the disrespectful behavior: elders were to be treated with respect, were they not? He would have to teach Snitch one day the ways of society.

"I merely want to know about the state of the child's home-life--" he argued reasonably. But Snitch would have none of it.

"'e ain't gotta home-life 'cause 'e ain' gotta home!" he said. "but 'e does now, it's with me an' the Lions."

Keiko was still lost in this conversation. He was getting rather nervous around all the yelling, and the fact that a scrawny child was standing up to the fierce look on a grown man's face…from experience, he knew that was unwise to do in whatever language.

"Snitch…" he murmured, putting a warning hand on the little boy's shoulder, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore's face. "Please…"

Snitch ignored him.

Keiko had forgotten that he thought they were dead, his beaten-in instincts of adult-versus-child danger were whirling uncontrollably, screaming at him to get Snitch and himself away from the situation. He felt his heart start to race again--this time at a regular pace, thankfully--and his skin was already shining with perspiration. His muscles tensed anxiously, watching the incomprehensible dispute between man and child. Dumbledore seemed to be getting more annoyed, more angry…would he hit Snitch? His father would have. His father wouldn't have given a second thought about it, he would have had Snitch on the ground littered in bruises in an instant.

"Stop, please…" he whispered desperately, seeing Dumbledore's patience start to shorten.

Dumbledore seemed to hear Keiko's quiet request, for he looked up from Snitch's level to Keiko's. His face softened at the terrified look on Keiko's tight face. His tone was much more gentle when he spoke.

"Keiko," he said, "I am sorry if we have frightened you…"

Keiko understood, but he wasn't very willing to let go of his grasp on Snitch's shoulder. Snitch, unable to turn around to face Keiko because of the tight grip on him, leaned his head back so that he was staring right up at Keiko's chin.

Keiko looked down on him questionably, then quickly released his shoulder. He backed up a bit an decided to gaze around at the curious field--to look at anything other than their eyes burning into his skull.

"Where?" he said simply, turning his back to get further away from their gazes.

Dumbledore answered.

"It is a dream, Keiko. We are sharing a dream with our minds."

Keiko whirled around, thinking he had not understood.

"I do not underst--"

"We all three have the same dream, Kay-ko," Snitch butted in, speaking as clearly as his six-year-old tongue would allow him. Keiko looked at him strangely, still not believing he was understanding correctly.

"Dream?" he asked. "…sleep?" what else could he ask to cross this damn language barrier?

"Yes," Dumbledore said, staring him in the eyes. Keiko looked away.

"We are not dead?" he said slowly, trying to keep grammar in mind.

"No, we are not dead," Dumbledore clarified. Snitch looked like he was about to add something with his big mouth, but Dumbledore tapped him on the shoulder and waved him down.

"We are sleeping?" Keiko asked.

"Yes,"

"The dream is real?" Keiko didn't feel like he was dreaming, he felt as real as he could…except that he felt no pain what-so-ever, practically a new experience for him.

"Yes. When we wake up, we will remember the dream," Dumbledore answered again. Keiko nodded--it was a confusing concept that couldn't be possible, but surprisingly enough he understood what was being said.

When he ran away, he thought he had known enough English to survive on his own away from his parents. But when he got around the city of London, he quickly came to realize just how difficult the language was. His cocky attitude went down the drain and he began relying on natural instincts in a man-made establishment, unable to understand a word around him. In Japan, he never really thought how hard it would be if he couldn't speak, understand, or read the language. In England, he was coming to understand that issue. He now found it surprising to understand what was going on, instead of the other way around.

"Okay," he said, giving a ghost of a smile at his own inner-accomplishment.

Maybe he could make it after all. Maybe, with a bit of help of course. He now saw that he could find help in the least likely of places. That would be essential if he hoped to survive.

* * *

**A/N:** Six pages. Early update. Feel blessed. 


	23. NihonJin and Kuso

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Nihon-Jin and Baba  
**_Dedicated to: Patriot Girl_

"Keiko," Dumbledore said, "where are you from?"

Snitch whipped around and glared at Dumbledore for continuing his questioning of Keiko. Dumbledore leaned down and whispered that it was an innocent question of curiosity, nothing more.

"I am from Japan," Keiko said.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise and seemed to be thinking of something.

"Ah," he said, "how interesting…"

Snitch butt in again.

"Wha's so int'restin' 'bout it?" he argued, though he himself was very interested. He had seen Japanese tourists, but never befriended one!

Dumbledore put his hand on Snitch's shoulder again, but he just shrugged it off.

"Hush, child," Dumbledore said.

"No!" Snitch retorted stubbornly.

Keiko looked on, understanding what Dumbledore wanted from Snitch and knowing that Snitch was reluctant to comply--why he would not obey was a different matter altogether.

"Snitch, I'm quite serious. I need you to be quiet,"

"Why?" Snitch asked whiningly.

"Because Keiko-kun and I are talking," Dumbledore responded, looking back at Keiko then returning his gaze to Snitch.

"Kay-ko-_koon_? Wha's that?" Snitch asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"It's a form of respect in Japan," Dumbledore answered impatiently.

"I don' get it…" Snitch persisted.

Dumbledore sighed.

"If you are speaking to a Japan native, you add the word "-kun" at the end of their name, or the word "-chan" if you are more familiar with them,"

"Why ya gotta do that?"

"Because it is disrespectful to use only their name. Only extremely close friends and family are allowed to do that. If I were to call him by just his name after I learned that he is from Japan, it could be taken as an insult,"

"…why?"

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out three lemon drops. He shoved one into Snitch's mouth without asking, popped one into his own mouth, and offered the last to Keiko.

"What?" Keiko asked, uncertain what it was.

"It is candy," Dumbledore answered around his own drop.

"Oh," Keiko cautiously took the candy from Dumbledore's hand--he wasn't offered candy often in Japan--and put it in his mouth.

An explosion of sour lemon juice filled it at once, making his taste buds flare and his eyes water. His face scrunched up and tightened around his mouth and cheeks. His lips sucked together, and his own tongue was trying to get away from itself.

After what seemed like hours, Keiko choked it down. He gasped for air, looking up at Dumbledore.

He grinned.

That was the best thing his mouth had ever experienced!

He was smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages, the lemony taste still lingering in on his tongue. Tiny tears were spilling over from his watering eyes, but he wiped them away hurriedly. No need for them to think the candy upset him. Quite the contrary, it seemed to calm his nerves and lighten his spirits!

"Good!" he managed to say. Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling insanely.

"Would you like another?" he offered politely. Keiko nodded and quickly snatched the treat out of his withered hand, gobbling it up greedily. After another explosion of sour juice had subsided, Keiko seemed to realize his greedy lack of manners and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry…" he said, looking down at his shoes. He was at least trying to be sorry, but that candy was just so good and made him so happy that he couldn't bring himself to be truly apologetic. But he had the grace to look abashed.

"It's okay," Dumbledore reassured. "You are from Japan?" he resumed the earlier conversation. Keiko nodded, glad for the change in subject. Snitch looked even more angry after he managed to swallow the yellow candy drop, but Dumbledore didn't allow him to say anything.

"Where you are from?" Keiko tried to ask politely, attempting to recover whatever mannerisms remained in him.

"I am from England," he answered, deciding to keep it simple. Keiko nodded in understanding. Snitch sighed loudly. Dumbledore smiled in amusement.

* * *

Sirius grunted in pain. His eyes were squeezed shut as a couple stray tears leaked out. His pride stopped him from screaming out in agony, but his face was a giant grimace. He had woken up just a few minutes ago, but it felt like an eternity of hell. He would almost be glad to be back in Azkaban if only the pain would leave him. 

_No,_ he smashed those evil thoughts. _Think of Harry…he needs me…_

Sirius could barely think around the steady stream of torture from his right ankle to the rest of his body. He had already hurled once, and his stomach hadn't had anything to hurl so there was a mess of blood, mucus, and stomach acid next to him.

Sirius let out a growl of pain and frustration towards the sky. The fates must really have had it in for him--what were the odds that the gun would go off when it hit the ground and shoot him?

Sirius hardly remembered how he came to be in this situation in the first place. Slowly it came back to him--a child. They had been beating a child. Sirius bent his neck around to glance at the slowly breathing body of a young boy behind him. Slowly breathing. That wasn't right. He was unconscious…and bleeding a lot. A puddle of blood surrounded the kid, creeping towards his own splattered blood.

What should he do? He had to do something, or both he and the kid would die. Sirius had starved himself for a week to escape from Azkaban, he was in no fit state to handle a gunshot. The kid looked as though he was just a few minutes from death. He had to do something…but what?

_I can't take him to a hospital…I can hardly stay awake, how am I supposed to drag his dead-weight body to a hospital? Does this place have a hospital?_

Sirius looked around at the tiny abandoned street, filled with clothes lines from surrounding apartment buildings and rubbish bins tipped over and rummaged through by rats and stray animals. A stench filled the air, smelling of rotting food, decaying carcasses of rodents, and exhaust fumes.

_Nope, no hospital._

If only that _thing_ digging into his ribs would disappear…he had no idea what it was, but it was extremely annoying and another distraction added to the pain that he didn't need at the moment. It was tap dancing on his last nerve, and if he had a wand he was sure he might blast himself if only to get the object to stop jabbing his ribs. He didn't have the energy to let go of his throbbing ankle to pull whatever it was away…but the annoyance was relentless.

With a growl, he released his ankle--and received a fresh flood of fiery pain as a reward--and shuffled through his torn and dirty robes, looking for the maddening culprit. His hands clasped around a familiar thin piece of wood--the cause of all this irritation--and pulled it out.

A wand.

Sirius stared at it, the shock pushing back any reminder of the pain he was in. When did this get here? It wasn't there before…was it?

A soft, comforting breeze swept down the one-way street, ruffling his matted hair. It filled him with a sense of encouragement. It smelled strongly of wheat, as though he could be sitting in the middle of a wonderful magical wheat field…he closed his eyes and imagined it…the wand under his fingers was warm, as though begging him to use it. He opened his eyes--sadly finding himself still on that damned street--and without hesitation he pointed towards his ankle, already knowing exactly what healing spell he should use.

All the pain washed up and away when his thin ankle glowed warmly, sending a wave of utter relief throughout his entire body. He sighed in contentment--the nice breeze was gone, but he still had that wand and a newly-healed ankle to keep him company…and the kid of course.

Sirius sat up straight.

The kid.

He whipped around and scampered over to the dying child, pointing his wand and whispering a charm to stem the bleeding. His senses were coming back to him--he had to work quickly, the Ministry would be upon them soon when they detected the magic. He didn't have time to heal the kid completely, just stop the bleeding and quickly heal the bones and major gashes. The kid would survive--given that he didn't get an infection. He cleared up the blood from the street and clothing so they wouldn't leave any traces of scent or bloody footprints the Ministry would follow. He picked up the boy--who was extremely light-weight but still frustratingly heavy to Sirius's withered muscles--and ran.

He ran through miles of twisting and turning alleyways, shortcuts, and buildings. He ran through the back storage room of a strip club--that was interesting--and down pointless stone stairways leading to closed stores and walkways. He darted from shadow to shadow, concentrating on keeping himself and the boy from being spotted by any nosy young couples out for a thrilling midnight walk in this insane world of sewers, gutters, loud music, and deadly gangs.

Sirius was especially sure to stay away from the gangs. He had learned his lesson once before and that was all he needed.

His newly healed ankle was sore and stiff, but that was incomparable to the seizing agony he had been in minutes before. It was weak and he avoided landing hard on it when he jumped over garbage bins. Once, however, the landing was too hard and he came tumbling to the ground, holding the kid protectively against his chest as his bony shoulder broke their fall. But his thin shoulder slamming into the ground wasn't as painful as it should have been…

That was because, as he looked down at what had really broken their fall, he saw that they had fallen over yet another child's body.

_What on earth?_ Sirius thought, taking the time to put his own kid next to the unconscious youth on the ground. _This isn't some sort of playground, why are there so many kids?_

But his curious thoughts were cut short with a sense of foreboding as he looked down on the familiar face of the kid they had tripped over…there was something weird about this one…Sirius had seen that face before…long ago…on an older man, who still managed to keep that boyish round face until the day he died…those cheekbones were familiar too…and the chin…hell, the entire face was familiar. And the hair…if it hadn't been matted down with grease, Sirius somehow knew it would spring to life in a hopeless mess of black.

Suddenly it clicked.

James.

This was James's son; his godson, the reason he had escaped, was lying unconscious in the streets with an impossible look panic and peace on his face.

_Okay…wasn't expecting this situation…_

Of the millions of possibilities Sirius had imagined to happen when he found his godson, he had not foreseen this: he had two unconscious kids on his hands, a stiff ankle that had recently been shot, a brand new wand that had appeared from nowhere was shoved down his prison-robe pocket, and they were all lying in a pile of rubbish from a nearby tipped garbage bin.

_Alright…now what the hell am I supposed to do?_

His thoughts were interrupted by voices arguing just around the corner. Sirius quickly changed into Padfoot--how bad would it look if a man who looked half-crazy was standing over two unconscious bodies in a deserted corner of the slums of London? He stood protectively in front of the two boys though, preparing to tear apart anyone who wanted to hurt them further. He didn't know why Harry was unconscious, but something had obviously frightened him.

The owners of the voices rounded the corner: a young woman with greasy red hair and dark shadows under her eyes, and a younger boy (probably about eight or nine years old) with darker hair plastered to his sweaty head as he jogged to keep up with the woman.

"Zilly," he gasped, "slow down!"

"Mac, whassamatter with'cha?" Zilly said exasperatedly, glancing back impatiently at Mac. "I ain't walkin' faster than normal, why cain't'cha keep up?"

"I--don'--know," Mac said between breaths. "Jus'--slow--down!" his legs looked as though he might as well have been moving boulders: the muscles were visibly strained and swollen under his shorts, sweating even in the cool January air. Why the kid was wearing shorts was beyond Sirius, but it seemed like a good idea--he was steaming enough in shorts and a T-Shirt, no need to roast him. Though it was probably due to a fever he contracted from being outside in such summer-fit clothing.

"You sick, Mac?" Zilly asked. Mac shrugged, clutching his stomach as though he might hurl. "Yup. Well, tell ya what…get over it quick or we ain't never gonna find Snitch with ya slowin' us down so bad."

"And if I don't?" Mac asked in a stubbornly childish way. Zilly rounded on him, shoving her nose in his face.

"Then Snitch'll die an' I'll kick yer ass."

"Fair enough."

_How sweet,_ Sirius thought sarcastically. _Who's Snitch?_ Sirius had heard of gang members giving each other nicknames--was this "Snitch" a tattle-tale or something? Like Pettigrew. The rat. Sirius was quickly deciding he didn't like "Snitch" very much.

"Whoa," Zilly held Mac back with her arm as she finally caught sight of Padfoot's horrendous image.

Sirius forgot that he seemed to look like a monstrously huge murderous beast, especially frightening in his starved and crazed state right now.

Oops.

Zilly and Mac pulled out switchblades at the same time, cautiously moving forward--cautiously but still in an intimidating manner. Padfoot took a step forward to meet them five feet (note1)apart. They stared--Mac stared at him, he stared at Mac and Zilly, and Zilly stared at both him, Mac, and their surroundings. Suddenly she gasped in alarm, nudging Mac and pointing behind Padfoot (remembering to keep an eye on the monster before them). Mac spotted Harry and the kid and anger flashed in his feverish eyes.

He gave an infuriated growl and leapt at Padfoot's throat, thrusting the knife forward. Padfoot caught him with his teeth and threw him to the side while Zilly used the distraction to creep towards the boys. Padfoot growled dangerously until he saw the gentle fingers she used to brush Harry's fringe from his eyes, revealing his famous scar. Padfoot's breath caught at the site--he had seen it once before and had heard of it since, but it was entirely new and solidified the fact that he had found his godson. A fresh wave of protectiveness rose up and he padded over to Zilly, nudging her hand away from Harry and putting his paw on his shoulder in a protective manner. Zilly just glanced at him before turning back to Harry.

"Snitch…" she whispered pityingly, checking him over for injuries. Her forehead wrinkled in a worried frown as years of stress showed in her face and eyes. She looked older than her young age.

"Wha's wrong wiff'im?" Mac said, coming over to join Zilly (both completely ignoring Padfoot's presence, much to his annoyance).

"I don' know…'e don' look hurt…jus' scared…" she answered. Mac scoffed.

"Snitch? Scared to death?" he said, looking incredulously at Zilly's concerned face. Zilly shook her head, not looking away from carefully examining Snitch for injuries.

"No…he ain't dead, stupid. Maybe he got a good scare and he jus'…dropped…" she said absent mindedly as her haunted eyes passed over his scarred knees.

"Ya mean like, feinted?"

"Yeah."

Mac nodded knowledgably. Now it was Padfoot's turn to scoff.

_Yeah, sure…he understands. _Was it a sign of insanity if one's thoughts were constantly sarcastic? _He's eight years old and apparently has an ego-issue, he's just trying not to look like a moron…_

Bringing himself to the topic at hand, Padfoot looked on in interested as Harry's eyes twitched and finally snapped open, revealing a brilliant green color.

_Lily's eyes…_ Padfoot reminisced sadly.

"Wha's goin' on?" Harry--Snitch--slurred.

"You tell us," Mac said, ruffling Harry's hair as though he was decades older than the little one, though in reality was probably only two or three years older. "Who'ssat?" Mac nodded toward the kid Sirius had rescued. Harry glanced over and gasped in surprise and relief.

"Kay-ko!"

_Kay-ko? That's an odd name…_

As if on cue, "Kay-ko" woke with a start, looking at Harry curiously as if asking a silent question. Harry nodded slightly, before checking him over for injuries just as Zilly had done for him. All was going well until "Kay-ko" caught sight of Padfoot.

He jumped up with a scream of alarm, pointing to Padfoot and shrieking in what Sirius vaguely recognized as Japanese.

_That's odd too._

"Kay-ko!" Harry yelled in concern, glancing for a moment at the huge dog behind him. "It's jus' a dog!"

"Kay-ko" shook his head vigorously and seemed to be trying to explain something to Harry, using wild hand gestures to compensate for the lack of English coming from his mouth. Harry looked at him as though he were crazy.

"Keiko," Zilly said finally, "calm down, man!" She attempted to grab his shoulders to still the jumpy youth, but Keiko darted away and proceeded in his insane antics.

Keiko pointed at Padfoot, got down on the ground and panted like a dog--even going so far as to give a little bark--before making a _popping_ sound with his mouth and curling up into an upright position with his arms spread out as though that were his point. Sirius himself recognized it as the imitation of his animagus transformation, but to the others it just looked like a child's meaningless ramblings.

Zilly, annoyed, grabbed Harry and whispered harshly in his ear.

"Get this kid outta here, Snitch," she said, holding him roughly by the elbow.

"No!" Harry said stubbornly. Sirius gave a doggy-grin, seeing both his parents' trademark stubborn attitude in the answer.

"_Now, Snitch!_" she hissed dangerously through clenched teeth.

_Then again, red-heads were scary._

"He ain't got no place to go!" Harry answered. Padfoot frowned. That wasn't right…every kid had to have someplace to go… Zilly asked what he meant. "I mean," Harry continued, "that 'is parents don' wan' 'im no more. 'e ran away, so we gotta take him in just like ya'll took me in!" Padfoot's eyes were watering now. No…it couldn't be that his little godson was homeless, living with a bunch of street urchins? For there was no mistaking where Zilly and Mac lived; and though Harry shared the same looks and qualities, Sirius couldn't bring himself to believe he could be a street rat.

But as the group finally started moving (bringing Sirius somewhat out of his thoughts), Keiko staring over his shoulder at the monstrous dog behind them, Sirius knew it was true. His godson was a gang member living in the streets.

_Shit._

* * *

**A/N:** (note 1) 5 feet is 1 1/2 meters in metric. Sorry for the late update, wanted to make this long. 9 pages, w00t! 


	24. Real Cold

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Real Cold  
**_Dedicated to Nora D._

Sirius followed the group of rowdy and excited kids, anxious to get Harry (_Snitch? How could they name him Snitch?)_ back to "The House", as they referred to wherever the hell they were headed. Keiko continued to glance back at him in flat-out _alarm_ as they went on their journey, and Padfoot barely managed to control his mischievous side, which very dearly wanted to wrestle the youth to the ground…

He never had fun anymore.

* * *

"_How come you're not fun anymore?" James mock-sulked, blinking up at his wife._

"_Such is the life of being a parent," Lily answered with a playful grin, rolling her eyes at James as he pouted at the dirty diaper._

"_Humph!" he whined. "No fair."_

"_Now really, James, you're already setting a bad example for Harry!" Lily chastised, picking up a newly-changed and cleaned Harry and cradling him against her chest._

"'_Now really, James, You're already setting a bad example for Harry…'" James blatantly mocked his wife with a high-pitched voice and scrunched up face._

_Harry giggled, his eyes sparkling in delight of his father's immaturity. He raised his chubby arms, his tiny fingers stretching towards James, begging for attention. James growled like a monster, lifting his huge hands in a claw-like fashion and bringing them down towards Harry to pick him up._

"_James, stop it!" Lily demanded, holding her child out of his reach. "You'll scare him to death before he reaches his first birthday!"_

_But James dove towards his little son, snatching him from Lily's grasp and swinging him round the nursery. Lily couldn't help but laugh along with her husband and child. She had learned that fun couldn't escape the grasp of James, and he seemed to have passed the talent on to Harry.

* * *

_

Padfoot turned his gaze to Snitch, his eyes twinkling lovingly. Well, perhaps his not having fun anymore was about to change…

* * *

"MAC!" Zilly's shrill voice rang out from the depths of the House. 

Mac jumped from his position on the floor (teasing Padfoot by putting a dirty piece of clothing over the poor dog's head), and turned slowly around to face his doom. Zilly came marching toward him, holding an empty paper grocery bag in her hand. She shoved it in his face and pulled him up by his hair. Snitch didn't say anything to this rough behavior, he didn't want Zilly's wrath upon himself as well.

"You ate it, didn' ya?" she hissed venomously. Mac squeaked, clawing at her hands that held his greasy hair in an angry grip.

"A-A-Ate what?" he asked.

"The _FOOD_, you moron!" Zilly screeched, throwing the empty bag on the ground near Snitch. Snitch peaked inside and recognized crumbs and wet streaks where there had quite recently been food.

_They must'a found it when we was gone,_ he thought.

"Oh, that…" Mac said quietly, looking sheepishly at his feet. Zilly rolled her eyes and finally let his hair go, but kept her glare on him.

"_Well?"_ she pressed on.

"Well…" he started guiltily. Zilly didn't need anymore of an answer, she let out a growl of frustration and stalked away.

"I hope that food was bad, an' ya get poison'd from it an' die!" she screamed over her shoulder before walking out and slamming the door so hard it broke the frame.

Mac looked down at the bag, grabbing it in angry fists and crinkling it up with a scowl.

"So…" Snitch started, "how much food was in there, anyway?"

"Lots."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Found it while you was gone with that kid," Mac gestured to Keiko, who was glaring suspiciously at Padfoot (who was tearing up the article of clothing that he had finally gotten off his face).

"What'd'ja find?" Snitch asked.

"Five hamburgers, three orders o' fries, and two half-melted milkshakes outside McDonald's," Mac reeled off gloomily, holding his stomach as though the glorious feast was now sickening to him. "Zilly told me that we had'ta save it, since we got a extra mouth to feed an' all…" Mac glanced at Keiko again, then to Padfoot. "Well, I guess two now…is the dog stayin'?"

Snitch looked to Padfoot and seemed to size him up. Padfoot froze in his efforts to destroy the clothing hanging from his drooling mouth, and stared up silently at his godson, not having paid attention to the previous conversation.

"Yeah," Snitch said finally. "'e stays."

Padfoot, having caught on by now, tore around the room in an excited frenzy--his godson liked him enough to let him stay with him! Padfoot jumped about, tackling Keiko and licking the terrified boy's face, before racing off again, round and round the room amidst howls of laughter from Snitch and Mac.

"But," Mac started, turning to Snitch, "Will Zilly let ya? We hardly got 'nough food fer ourselves, an' now we got da new kid and a _dog_…I ain't never had a dog, Snitch, do they eat people-food?"

Padfoot yipped in what only could be taken as a "yes", while Snitch knowledgably shook his head in the negative.

"Naw," Snitch said. "They gots special food jus' fer them. They cain't have people-food."

Padfoot growled. There was no way on this planet that he would eat _dog food_. That was just degrading. He was already formulating plans of what shops and apartment buildings to go to that might have some friendly people who would give a starving dog "people-food."

Mac and Snitch laughed at his growling, and Snitch relented. "Alright! Ya can have people-food, but don' come cryin' at me when ya get sick!"

Padfoot resumed his sprint-around-the-room game, taking great pleasure in jumping over Keiko (who nearly wet himself).

"Where's Mouse?" Snitch asked Mac about his shy friend.

"Prob'ly wit' Zilly," he answered. "They was both back there, 'bout ta bring da food out when Zilly came stormin' out here…"

"Yeah, let 'im calm her down…'e's quiet, an' he don' bother no one and Zilly needs a bit o' quiet right now, don'tcha think?"

Mac nodded in agreement, rubbing his aching belly and laying down on his back with a grown.

"Ya alright?" Snitch asked. "Ya look sick."

"I think I am…" Mac answered. "Prob'ly somethin' Mouse had, 'e's always gettin' sick."

"Here," Snitch threw some blankets at his brother so he wouldn't have to move across the room to his bed. "Cover up so ya don' get sicker, it's gonna be real cold tonight."

"How d'ya know?"

"'cause it was real cold today!" Snitch said simply.

"Oh…I guess that makes sense…"

"Of course it does, I said it!" Snitch said pompously.

Padfoot snorted, remembering how James would say the exact same thing.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long. Keep bothering me for the next update. 


	25. Every Parent's Nightmare

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Every Parent's Nightmare  
**_Dedicated to: My bladder, for making me hurry up and get this chapter finished._

It was two days later, and Sirius was just as giddy as he had been the day Harry--Snitch, he reminded himself amusedly--said he could stay with the Lions, their own little make-shift family.

Just as giddy, but a lot more hungry.

Sirius growled in his throat along with his grumbling stomach, aching for something to fill it. He paced back and forth in the small and empty room, half skipping in endless delight and half dragging his feet in hungry despair.

Mac watched the dog's progress while laid back against a crumbling old wall and clutching his pained belly, obviously still feeling the sickening effects of food poisoning--courtesy of the mountainous amount of food he stole behind Zilly's back.

"Serves ya right…" Zilly could be heard mumbling under her breath, calming her frazzled spirits with every indecent word she titled Mac as. "Ungrateful little --"

"So," Mouse whispered to Snitch, who was looking miserably at the tension between Mac and Zilly. "What'cha gonna name 'im?"

"Huh?" Snitch grunted intelligently, turning to glance at Mouse before staring down at the ground with gloom.

"The dog--what'cha gonna name 'im?" Mouse clarified with an imperceptible roll of his eyes.

"Oh. I dunno…" he slurred.

"Well, don'cha think ya should think o' somethin'? 'e's gonna be stayin' wit' us, didn'cha say?"

"Yeah…yeah, I said dat…"

"Wha's wrong?" Mouse asked, looking concernedly at Snitch's troubled eyes.

"Nothin'," Snitch denied, continuing to stare angrily at the ground.

"I ain't dumb, Snitch," Mouse said firmly.

"I know that."

"So why ya thinkin' I am?" Mouse pressed.

"I ain't."

Mouse was getting frustrated. He could see that something was bothering his brother, and they had always told each other everything--no lies, that was their policy.

"Snitch, somethin's botherin' you, Captain Obvious could figure dat one out."

Captain Obvious was a super-hero Snitch and Mouse had made up a couple years ago--he was the Captain of all things Obvious, but couldn't manage beyond his titled range. Most people would call Captain Obvious stupid, but the young boys both believed he was brilliantly hilarious--after all, his simple brilliance was enough to lighten the hearts of two troubled street urchins, while geniuses tended to be annoying.

Just the mention of his childhood hero brought a tiny ghost of a smile to Snitch's face, and in turn Mouse cracked a toothy grin to see a bit of his happy little brother coming back. But it was gone in a second, replaced again with that weary expression. Mouse sighed.

"Snitch..." he started, unsure of how to talk to him.

"I don' wanna talk 'bout it," Snitch interrupted grumpily, much like other Normy children his age would.

"Well, I do."

Snitch shot him a glare.

"Just shut up, Mouse…" he sighed.

"Will do," Mouse said tartly.

Zilly gave another angry look at Mac as she swept past Snitch and Mouse. She slammed open the door and stalked down the hallway, the door just barely clinging to its hinges as it swayed in momentum. Zilly could be heard clambering through the window that served as the entrance and exit to the House.

"Where she goin'?" Mac asked bitterly, still holding his stomach in pain.

No one answered.

Padfoot looked around the room from his lonely spot in the corner (where he had been whimpering in hunger), noticing the eerie silence and dejected look Snitch held. He stood and padded over to his godson, licking his boyish face.

"Stop it," Snitch pushed him away.

Padfoot licked his hand, but Snitch slapped his nose.

"Stop it," he said again with more finality.

_No_, Padfoot thought impishly.

He stepped forward, towering over the child sitting on the floor, and licked the inside of Snitch's ear. His wet tongue felt like expired jelly swimming around in the boy's ear. Snitch jerked his head out of reach of Padfoot, but the dog jumped on top of him to lick his face, pushing the kid to the floor.

"Stop!" he protested.

But Padfoot continued in his game, trying to cheer him up. Mac and Mouse sniggered while Keiko looked alarmed at the scene before him.

"Stop it, I said!" Snitch repeated.

_I refuse!_ Padfoot thought playfully.

"STOP, DAMMIT!" Snitch screamed, grapping Padfoot by the neck and throwing his thin body across the room. Padfoot yelped in surprise after hitting the wall. He climbed to his feet and stared at his godson in hurt and worry.

_What the hell?_ he thought. _I was just playing…_

"Whoa, man…" Mac whispered, staring at Snitch while he crawled over to Padfoot to grip him protectively. "Wha's wrong wit'chu?"

Snitch didn't answer, but got up and stormed out of the room much like Zilly did.

"Where you goin'?" Mouse asked cautiously.

"Food," Snitch answered simply.

"Aw, no…" Mac moaned, clutching his sick stomach. "Not more food…"

But Snitch had already climbed out the window in the next room.

Padfoot, though excited by the prospect of food in his hungry belly, was more worried for his godson than anything. He scampered into the next room and managed to scurry through the small window after climbing a load of broken furniture to reach it (because the House was actually just the basement of an old warehouse, the window was small and near the top of the wall, the pavement of the outside alleyway scraping the bottom edge of the window). Once outside, he looked ahead just in time to see Snitch dart around a corner.

He followed.

After many twists and turns in the labyrinth of alleys and roads, Padfoot finally caught up to Snitch. He fell into step beside him, but Snitch remained silent. He showed no signs of noticing a dog walking with him, so Padfoot nudged his tiny hand with his nose.

His eyes were fixed ahead of him, but Snitch's hand reached up and gently stroked the fur on Padfoot's head. Padfoot panted in fatigue and content.

And they walked side by side down the craggy street, occasionally tripping over the uneven asphalt and shivering in the cold January air.

Padfoot stopped dead in his tracks hours later when he saw a group of scantily-clad young women step out of a building ahead of them.

_Damn!_ Sirius's youthful self jumped in with lust he hadn't felt in the years he had been stuck in Azkaban.

Snitch followed his gaze and saw about four women in jeans that hugged their legs and showed off their rears, sitting low on their hips. One girl caught Snitch's eye: she was wearing a red coat held together in the front with black strings and buttons; the hood, sleeve-ends, and bottom part of the coat were all lined with black fur. The coat, like her pants, clung to her body and made her look very pretty. Her red hair was pulled back in a messy bun…he recognized the fiery-red color of it glinting in the sunlight.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's Zilly!"

Padfoot suddenly felt sick to his gut, realizing why the girls were dressed like that as a sleek black car pulled up and they flooded around the window, speaking to the driver.

_Oh, hell no…_ he thought desperately. _No, no, no…please don't be what I think it is…_

He watched as the other girls backed away from the car, but Zilly stayed by the window. Snitch and Padfoot were too far away to understand what they were saying, but they saw Zilly nod and unbutton her coat, revealing what was underneath in a suggestive manner.

_No, Merlin, don't do this…just don't let Harry figure out what she's doing…_ Sirius prayed for what was left of his godson's innocence. Thankfully, Zilly's arm and left side of her open coat blocked them from seeing what she was showing the driver.

_Poor kid._ After that thought, Sirius himself wasn't sure if he was thinking about Snitch or Zilly. _She has to resort to this sort of thing to keep her family together… _he contemplated sadly.

"Wha's she doin'?" Snitch questioned innocently.

_Nothing! She's not doing anything!_

Snitch watched his big sister laugh generously at whatever the driver just said. Zilly hadn't laughed in ages, and that sure as hell was not her real laugh.

_But why's she fakin' it?_ Snitch thought._ It's not like she's gotta make that guy happy or nothin'…_

Finally sick of his burning curiosity, Snitch ran down the sidewalk towards Zilly. She would sort out his confusion.

"Zilly!" he yelled, grabbing the bottom of her open coat. A bit bare skin peaked out, but that was all Snitch saw before Zilly screamed in alarm and snapped it closed.

"SNITCH!"

"What'cha doin', Zilly?" Snitch asked, his wide innocent eyes staring up at his sister trustingly. He glanced for a second through the window to see the middle-aged man Zilly had been talking to.

"You got a kid?" the driver inquired, staring in surprise at the little boy clutching her waist.

"What?" Zilly looked back at the man in alarm. "No! No, no, this is my li'l brother," she struggled while trying to button her coat again without Snitch seeing anything. Padfoot shook his head sadly. Zilly turned back to Snitch, giving him an evil glare. "Go home, Snitch," she hissed.

"But what'cha doin'?" Snitch probed again.

"Business," she answered shortly. She grabbed his shoulder with one hand while holding her coat closed with the other and steered him away from the group. "Go home."

"Hey kid!" the driver called. Snitch walked back to the car window while Zilly rolled her eyes and stepped back, giving her full attention to the troublesome buttons on her coat. Snitch leaned in through the window as the man leaned towards him. "You can join too," he whispered in a low voice, staring at the child with perversion in his eyes.

Padfoot growled dangerously.

"Join what?" Snitch muttered back.

The man laughed, before calling out the window to Zilly: "I'll pay triple for you and the kid together!"

Zilly looked up from her coat, which she had finally gotten to stay closed. Her face was disgusted as she grabbed Snitch's arm and dragged him roughly away from car window.

_Creepy old man,_ Snitch thought.

She leaned down to his ear.

"Run home!" she murmured, nudging him in the direction of the House.

Padfoot grabbed the little boy's sleeve in his arm and pulled him roughly and determinately away from the meeting.

_Every parent's nightmare…_ he cringed at the thought of what that nasty man wanted to do to his precious little godson.


	26. The Skin of a Rebel

**Chapter 26: The Skin of a Rebel  
**_Dedicated to: AJ-Plays-With-Fyre, a long-time reviewer._

"I don' get it…" Snitch muttered.

_Good,_ Padfoot thought.

"What was she doin'?" Snitch asked Padfoot, though he knew better than to expect an answer.

_Nothing, she was just chatting,_ Padfoot desperately tried to push his thoughts into his young godson's mind telepathically, but to no avail.

"And what did that old guy want?"

_You don't want to know, Harry…_

Snitch and Padfoot sighed at the same time. The young boy walked along the icy sidewalk before abruptly turning into a dead-end alley with a dumpster against the farthest wall. Snitch pulled his thin frame up and over the side. He jumped right down into the rubbish. Padfoot stood on his hind legs, scratching at the sides of the dumpster with his paws.

_What the hell is he doing now?_ he asked himself. _If this keeps up, I'm going to have gray hair right down to my tail by next week!_

Padfoot could hear his godson rummaging around in there, but he had no idea why. After several confusion-filled minutes, Padfoot shuffled under the dumpster and laid there, waiting for Snitch to finish his hour of insanity.

"YES!" Snitch finally exclaimed from inside the garbage bin. Padfoot jumped, knocking his head against the bottom of the dumpster. He growled and shuffled out.

Half way out from under it, a soggy bag flew out and hit him on the head. He dragged the rest of his body out and started barking viciously at the demon-bag, his starving belly was not in the mood for games.

Snitch jumped down to the ground beside him, snatching up the bag and wagging his finger at the dog.

"What do you think yer doin'? That's our food, you cain't bark at it! It's rude!" Snitch scolded.

Padfoot nearly bit Snitch's finger off until he registered the word "food."

_Food?_ his mouth was already salivating.

Snitch started off towards the House, Padfoot scuttling behind him.

0

"Oh, no, not more food!"

That sentence had never been uttered and never would be again in the House of the Lions.

Mac groaned, clutching his stomach and rolling over to bury his face in the rags beneath him that served as a bed.

Snitch laughed, another sound not often heard in the House.

"Shut it, Mac. Be grateful," he said jokingly, throwing the bag of precious food at Mac's face. Padfoot scampered after it.

"Get it away from me! Get it away!" Mac screamed, kicking the food across the room. Padfoot followed, his claws scratching the rotting wooden floor.

"Get what away from ya?" Snitch asked, snickering. "Da dog or da food?"

"BOTH!"

Snitch and Mouse laughed while Padfoot cornered the bag of food and seemed to be trying to inhale the food right through the paper.

"Hey, dog!" Snitch called.

Padfoot ignored him.

"Dog!"

_Lemme alone kid, I'm hungry,_ Padfoot thought, digging into the bag pitifully with his paws.

"Hey!" Snitch walked over to him. "I'm talkin' to ya! Listen up!"

_Make me,_ Padfoot mocked silently.

Snitch must have guessed what he was thinking, because he grabbed his snout and pulled it up so that he was forced to look in his face.

"I said, 'listen!'" he repeated.

_Bossy, bossy,_ Padfoot struggled with his trapped snout. _Get off me, kid!_ Padfoot's eyes gained a gleeful glint before his long, wet, pink tongue darted out and licked Snitch's little hand until it dripped with genuine K-9 saliva. He watched with delight as Snitch's face turned from bossy-six-year-old to disgusted faster than a traffic light. Snitch pulled back his hand and brought it to eye-level, staring at it with his nose scrunched up and his mouth opened slightly, as though he were about to say something.

"EWWW!"

Yet another sound that was hardly heard in the House, as living with rats and roaches had somewhat desensitized the family to the thought of filth and germs.

"Wha'ever it is," Mac slurred weakly, "don' tell me 'bout it…" the poor boy looked like he was giving everything he had not to regurgitate whatever his thin body had left.

"What is it?" Mouse asked with childish curiosity, crawling over on his knees to get a closer look.

Snitch held up the glorious sight: a hand dripping with dog-slobber.

"Wicked!" Mouse breathed.

"Don' tell me…" Mac said again desperately.

Snitch wiped the mess on Mouse's sleeve.

"Is it 'wicked' now?" he challenged. Mouse looked personally offended, before tackling Snitch to the ground and engaging in a playful wrestling match.

Padfoot looked at the ongoing fight, debating whether to join the fun or eat…and inevitably chose to eat. He went back to scratching at the bag, getting progressively more frustrated as it remained closed.

Snitch and Mouse rolled over and over on the ground, struggling to take each other down. Snitch was excellent in battle when his adrenaline was rushing and he was in the right mindset, but when he was just playing around, there was no real need for a spike in energy and his small stature was a disadvantage. Mouse pinned him down and straddled him, holding his arms useless and leaning over him.

Snitch cursed and Mouse laughed.

Mouse worked up a swab of spit and slowly squeezed it through his slightly parted lips. It dangled lowed and lower towards Snitch's face.

"No!" Snitch screamed, fighting against Mouse's grip. "NO! NO! NOOO!"

"Uuugh…." Mac moaned pathetically. "Shut yer face…"

Padfoot looked up in alarm for a moment and saw what was making his godson scream. He snorted and continued to brutalize the bag of food. Mac looked over at him and frowned.

"Gimme that!" he snatched the bag from the dog and smacked him on the nose. "Yer gonna ruin it all!"

_You should talk,_ Padfoot growled. _Aren't you the one that ate all their food and got sick off it?_

While Mac and Padfoot stared each other down, and Mouse cruelly tortured Snitch, Keiko sat in a dark corner and watched in curiosity as this un-related family interacted. He had been raised in a wealthy family with high expectations. He had been taught that those who lived like this--on the streets, that is--were nothing but worthless beggars, useless to society.

But looking in on these lives, Keiko realized that it didn't matter if a person could be useful to society. Society was cruel and heartless, like his father. Why should anyone support it? In fact, Keiko had always been fascinated and secretly supportive of the rebels that led protests back home in Japan. Even the teenagers that proudly wore tattoos and earrings, their outlandish clothes speaking out against those of higher class.

His father had always looked down upon them, calling them harsh names and even telling Keiko that that is what happened when parents don't discipline their children right. Keiko disagreed, but never spoke up.

He would rather be wearing a rebel's skin than his own, which was littered with the bruises and cuts his father called "discipline."

0

**A/N:** I can't say I'm sorry it took so long, because I had a bit of a writer's block when it came to the flow of the chapter. I kept trying to write it and it just never turned out right. I've re-written it countless times, and tonight I had a burst of inspiration and I think it turned out quite well (especially the end) if I do say so myself.


	27. A Hell Without Fire

**Chapter 27: A Hell Without Fire  
**_Dedicated to: Luke, for sending some awesome reviews for the first couple chapters. They won't show up on the Review Page for some reason, so I can't respond to them :(_

Zilly slipped out the back door of the building, straightening her thin jacket before stalking angrily into the darkness.

As she walked, she could hear her worn rubber-soled sneakers hitting the cracked pavement. If she cared anything at all about her own personal safety at that moment, she would have realized her footsteps were much too loud. But she walked on, grinding her teeth in fury.

What was that boy thinking, barging in on her business like that? Why didn't he listen to her when she told him to go home? He almost cost her a customer! That would have been bittersweet, however, because although she hated selling her body, it was necessary for her family's survival. Especially with Mac's food-poisoning; medicine was much more expensive than she had anticipated.

She couldn't stand them. Whiny, ungrateful, nosy troublemakers, the lot of them! Before the death battle with the Dragons, they were like little angels to her…knife-wielding angels, but angels nonetheless. They were cute and seemed to know exactly what to say to make her laugh. But ever since her best friend and twin brother--Gumbi--died, it seemed the only purpose for their existence was to annoy her.

She hated being like this. She hated the way she had to dress during her "business days," and how she lied to her brothers when she said she took a job at a restaurant. She hated scurrying for cover when a police officer's car pulled up to bust a prostitution joint. She hated the scowl that was ever-present on her face, instead of the smile that used to be there.

She hated shouldering the responsibilities a grown woman couldn't even handle. She was 18 years old, she was still just a young girl!

_Cat was younger,_ her thoughts reminded her. _But she made a better mother than you!_

Zilly could feel her throat already constricting and her vision blurring with tears.

Cat.

Her little sister.

Cat and Zilly always had a unique bond. As the only girls in a gang full of boys, they shared everything. Their deepest secrets, thoughts, and fantasies. Zilly used to take care of Snitch as an infant when Cat was sick or hurt. She knew that Snitch was and always would be Cat's child. Zilly was more like an aunt.

But with Cat gone, Zilly couldn't help but feel bitter towards her for leaving Snitch in her charge. She had told Cat to be careful; to stay home and away from danger. Snitch needed her love and care, and Zilly needed her helping hand. But she went and got herself killed. Brutally, no less. Snitch was the one to find her decomposing body. The poor boy would be traumatised for life, and Zilly just didn't have the time nor energy to deal with a traumatised kid on top of everything else! And what was with him bringing home some foreign kid, claiming he had no home? She couldn't afford supporting _another_ kid, especially one who didn't know English! She rolled her eyes. She didn't know what was going through Snitch's mind, she would never understand that boy. Only Cat could.

It was all just too much: they were starving, freezing, sick, and broke. In an instant, she had been forced to acquire countless new responsibilities and duties. She couldn't do it. She couldn't handle it. Not without her brothers, Gumbi and B.G.. But they were gone forever, as was Cat.

She was trapped, there was no way out of her situation. Millions of problems and emergencies were weighing her down, she could hardly breathe just thinking of it! Her vision grew foggy and she swayed on her feet. The smell of wheat filled her senses, and her lungs filled with clean air--a strange but welcome change to the waves of pollution in the city air around her. She closed her eyes and breathed it in, until it sadly faded away into a distant memory--just like everything else she ever cared about in her life.

She sighed and continued on her way, her righteous anger from earlier returning with a vengeance.

Those boys would pay for making her life hell.

0

"So then what?"

"So then dat creepy old guy says, 'Hey, I'll pay triple for you and da kid together,' whatever dat means, an' Zilly told me to go home again an' I wasn' gonna, but she pushed me an' dat stupid dog started draggin' me away from them," Snitch gushed, all in one breath.

Keiko looked overwhelmed by the constant stream of English pouring from the young boy's mouth, while Mac looked contemplative. Mouse looked sick, though Snitch couldn't see why when Mac was the ill one.

Padfoot, however, knew that Mouse had figured it out. He was fourteen-years-old, after all. He was quiet, but far from dense. He knew the obvious when it was staring him in the face.

"I wonder what they was talkin' 'bout…" Mac voiced, tapping his chin.

_Nothing!_ Padfoot thought. This thought-chain was getting repetitive, he had to find something else to occupy these kids' minds.

"Yeah, so do I, that's why I told ya!" Snitch replied.

"Well, if you don' want my opinion, I won' tell ya!" Mac countered, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"You ain't got no opinion, dumbass!" Snitch argued.

Mac scowled, glaring at him. Padfoot barked at Snitch's language, his parental instincts kicking in. Normally, he would have thought it was funny hearing a six-year-old boy call someone a dumbass--but this was his little godson, and he knew Lily would rip him limb from limb if he let him talk like that.

"What're you barkin' at, pussy?" Snitch snapped. Padfoot shrank back in surprise, before barking and growling dangerously with renewed vigor.

_No one calls Padfoot a pussy!_

"Wha's his problem?" Mac asked, staring at Padfoot cautiously. Snitch shrugged. "Do somethin', mate!"

"Like what?" Snitch answered.

"Don' ask me, 'e's yer dog!"

Snitch looked around him, before taking off Mac's shoe and chucking it at Padfoot's head.

"Hey!" Mac screamed indignantly.

"Glad to see yer healthy enough to start hollerin', Mac!" Zilly spoke sharply from the darkened doorway.

"Zilly!" Mouse squeaked.

"Congrats, Mouse," she said sarcastically, "you fin'ly learnt my name."

"How long you been standin' there, Zilly?" Snitch asked cautiously. He was sure she wouldn't appreciate him telling the others about the questionable situation he caught her in.

"Since 'dumbass,'" she replied tartly.

"Okay, good," Snitch breathed.

"And what the hell is that s'posed to mean!" Zilly approached him dangerously. Padfoot put himself between his godson and her intimidating figure. She paid him no mind as she glared down at Snitch's skinny frame. Snitch stood up, his muscles tense and his eyes alert.

"Nothin', Zilly," Snitch said softly. "What're you all worked up 'bout?"

"_You_, Snitch, you!"

"Wha…?" Snitch gaped intelligently.

"Just shut up and listen!" Zilly shrieked. The air in the room was more tense than a tightrope, and the boys were staring at Zilly with fear in their eyes. Keiko looked ready to fall over and convulse right then and there.

"I'm listenin'…" Snitch whispered.

"You been nothin' but a pile o' shit to me!" Snitch watched his big sister with wide, bright eyes. "You haven't been pullin' yer own weight round here, you spent da past hundred years lookin' fer Cat when I told you not to! You almost cost me a lot o' money today, Snitch! Why don' you fuckin' listen to me?"

"I--" Snitch started.

"Shut up! I told you to _shut up!_ Ya see? You cain't do anything right! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you stupid? Do you have a brain in there?" Zilly smacked Snitch's forehead, sending the little boy's head snapping back sharply. "Or do you just not know English, like yer li'l friend over there?" She gestured wildly to Keiko, who nearly wet his pants at the raving girl. He didn't know what she was talking about, but rage could be understood in all languages.

"I do know--" Snitch interrupted.

"Then why don' you _listen_, Snitch?"

Snitch stayed silent when this question rolled around. He knew better than to answer when she obviously didn't want him to speak.

"Well?" She pressed. "_Answer me!_"

_What the fuck am I s'posed to do?_ Snitch thought to himself. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Zilly threw her hands in the air and screamed in frustration.

"I oughtta bring her back and kill her again!" She said to herself.

"Who?" Snitch dared.

"Cat!" Zilly answered, as though it were obvious.

"What?" Snitch's expression darkened, his eyes narrowed and his mouth went dry. Nobody would insult his mother's memory, he would make sure of it.

"She's the one who got herself killed!" Zilly countered. "Don' you dare blame me, little boy. I told her to stay home, but did she listen? Noooo, she had to protect some worthless Normy-mother and walk her back to where she came from!"

"She had to," Snitch defended viciously. "That lady wouldn't'a stood a chance walkin' back by herself! And she was a mother, she had kids! You sayin' her kids shoulda lost their mum 'coz she was tryin' to help a bunch o' strangers?"

"I'm sayin' that Normy-kids deserve to get a taste of what it's like out here!" Zilly debated.

"No one deserves it!" Snitch screamed, tears welling up in his eyes. "It ain't fair fer us, but why should we spread it 'round? What gives us da right to make other people's lives as bad as our's?"

Padfoot listened intently, his heart aching.

"Snitch, you don' get it! Normy-kids are nothin' but selfish, whiny, fat, and spoilt!" Zilly accused.

"That don' mean they should go to Hell!"

"I never said they should go to Hell, retard! Yer hearin' things!"

"Where d'ya think we are, Zilly? This is Hell!" Snitch screamed, tears spilling over. "There just ain't no fire, but I tell you what, I wish there was 'coz it's too fuckin' cold! The real Hell sounds kinda good right now! If you cain't wish the Norms would go to da real Hell, then you cain't wish fer them to live like this!"

Zilly was shocked at first, but then all the pressures and problems from earlier returned and her hair seemed to crackle with fury.

"You don' know a damn thing 'bout Hell, Snitch," she seethed. "Let me tell you what it's like…" she pushed past Padfoot and grabbed Snitch's shirt collar. "I go to Hell for money--" she punched Snitch in the gut with all her might, remembering how he interrupted her earlier. "I fight off demons--" she punched him again, remembering the countless men who tried to take her body for free. Snitch was breathless now, doubled over in pain but refusing to fight back. Zilly forced him to stand up again, grabbing his greasy hair this time to make him look her in the eye. "I put my starving stomach through Hell when I give up my food so you whiny little brats can eat!" She punched him yet again, earning a pained yelp from her little brother. "Why don't'choo fight back, you worthless piece of scum? Didn' we teach you better?"

"I ain't gonna fight you," Snitch gasped, clutching his abdomen.

"Why--fucking--not?" Zilly ground out.

"'Coz yer my sister."

Zilly slammed her fist into his stomach again, throwing his thin body to the ground.

"Worthless," was all that the boys heard as she stormed out of the House.

Padfoot watched in absolute horror as his tiny godson whimpered in pain. Snitch rolled over and, with a wretched sound, coughed up phlegm and blood.

"Snitch…" Mac whispered.

0

**A/N: **Wrote this chapter in about three hours. All at once. I'm quite proud of myself, I think it turned out pretty well. ATTENTION: _If you want to see computer images of Snitch and his family, go to my Live Journal (link found in profile). They're rather simple, so don't expect anything over the top…_


	28. Wheat Field Reverie

**Chapter 28: Wheat-Field Reverie**

Snitch managed to crawl painfully to his bed of rags, coughing up blood all the way. His abdomen felt as though it were on fire--the flames were licking his insides and destroying what was left. His stomach felt crushed, and his muscles were tense yet somehow strewn in a mess of internal bleeding.

He collapsed on the rags and faced the wall, away from the silent eyes of his brothers. Keiko stared in shock from his dark corner, while Mac and Mouse watched sadly. Padfoot's eyes held a mixture of disbelief, fury, and concern.

Padfoot's paws broke the silence when he walked softly to his little godson, only to stand behind him in uncertainty. He could clearly see Snitch clutching his stomach in agony, biting his thin lips together to hold back the whimpers that were fighting to get out. Padfoot admired his self-control--after all, the child was just six years old.

Padfoot took another step forward and dug his nose in between Snitch's arm and side until the little boy lifted it up so he could fit his whole head in. Snitch rolled over on his back, grasping his pained belly with his right arm while Padfoot climbed under his left, resting his head on the kid's chest protectively.

Snitch stared at the ceiling with tears in his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He felt comforted with Padfoot there, and more safe than he had felt since the last time he visited the wheat field in his dreams.

Snitch finally let the tears go. He cried silently. He cried mostly for his sister who so obviously hated him. He cried because they had lost the bond that made them family. She hated him and all he could do was cry and let her take her anger out on him, in the hope that she would burn out and come back to love him again.

He wanted to be her little brother, but she made it clear that he wasn't. Maybe, if he was good, she would realize that he really was trying to be a good boy. It was hard to be good when he was surrounded by the horrors of the world--death, murder, violence, hate, and theft were his constant companions. They were the only things he could count on to always be there in his life, unlike family and friends, who disappeared in an instant.

He had learned that life was as fragile as a flower in winter. It was a beautiful thing, but its surroundings could be quite ugly and dangerous. Just one gust of the frigid air could blow it away forever. It was all too easy to be left with just a cold, baron, unforgiving wasteland and no incentive to survive but human instinct and the distant hope for a better life somewhere else.

Snitch knew his family would all disappear one day. He could only hope he would be taken with them when that time came, because he would rather have no life at all than to live an empty, purposeless existence alone. Without his family, he couldn't live. Human nature would force him to exist, but he wouldn't _live._ He couldn't carry on.

But for now he would. For now, he had Padfoot next to him. For now, he would make the very best friend he could in Keiko. For now, he would love and care for his big sister--even if she hated him.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore adored the library of Hogwarts. It was full of interesting and informative references, as well as meaningless drabbles from bored authors. 

But today he wasn't looking for a senseless novel. Today he was on a mission that he had been forced to put off until now.

Ever since the very first vision he had shared with Harry--the dream with the comforting wheat field--his curiosity had been sparked. He was sure he had heard of such occurrences similar to this, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where.

_Perhaps I'm getting a bit old…_ Albus pondered to himself. _No, never…!_

Hours soared by like young students learning to fly. Several walls of books shielded the determined Headmaster from the view of studious Ravenclaws. Hundreds upon hundreds of tomes teetered over him precariously, threatening to topple over at the slightest touch.

_Thankfully Peeves is elsewhere,_ Albus thought to himself, rubbing his wrinkled eyelids in exhaustion. _He wouldn't be able to resist pushing this pile of books over…_

Albus wisely stood up and took several books from the top of each pile, spreading them across the table in smaller mounds. As he was doing this, he came across an ancient book with a thick layer of dust on top.

_Curious, I don't remember retrieving this…_

Albus's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. He grabbed the dusty volume with withered old hands and set it gently on his work space. Lifting the heavy leather cover, he opened to the table of contents. There were hundreds of entries, but that didn't deter him. He sat down again and got to work.

He saw several promising entries; but when he flipped to the pages, they turned out to be dead-ends. Finally, just as he was about to give up, he decided to check out the very last entry, which looked just as "promising" as the others:

Chapter C L X X I I

Sharing Comfort in Magical Ways….page 9,674

Dumbledore sighed in resignation and turned the thick pages, stopping at the correct chapter. He forced his tired eyes to read the tiny print… And then, his eyes snapped open in excitement. His heart raced as he read:

_Sharing comfort is approachable in more ways than just the physical methods mentioned in previous chapters. There are ways to stimulate the mind and body through mysterious magical tactics as well._

_There are no true and proven properties for these techniques, because they are so mysterious and unpredictable, but there are clear characteristics to define them._

Dumbledore's eyes scanned the next several pages, looking for the signs that described the dreams he had shared with Harry. Finally, he found what he was looking for.

_Probably the most mysterious method would be what is called simply the Wheat-Field Reverie. It is characterized by the following:_

_-Shared between at least two individuals, though there is no known limit._

_-Can be shared with humans, animals, monsters, magical and Muggle creatures, and plants._

_-The dream seems to have some sort of magical ability to "calm" and/or "heal" a trouble individual with just the strong scent of the wheat._

_-The dream allows people who share it to interact fully with one another, although what happens to them physically cannot be applied to their physical bodies outside of the dream. (For example, if the people sharing the dream were to attack each other, they could not feel any physical pain in their mind nor in their physical bodies.)_

_-Muggles, Wizards, and Witches can all have this vision, but if a Muggle is involved, then a magical human must be part of the dream as well._

_-The dream itself is thought to be an outside force of magic with unknown powers. It has been reported that this magic can render the participants unconscious during particularly stressful times, so that they are mentally transported into the wheat field to be comforted and/or healed._

_-Material objects can be taken into the vision-world with the individual, but cannot be left behind._

_-To experience the comforting smell of the wheat field, one doesn't necessarily have to be asleep. It can fill one's senses during consciousness as well._

_One successful story of this shared dream includes Lahringy the Lost, a man who spent two years wandering in circles in a vast forest. He went to sleep, desperate for help, and had a Wheat-Field Reverie with the 50-person search party his family had hired to find him. He described his location and they rescued him the next morning._

_In conclusion, the Wheat-Field Reverie has a variety of healing powers and comfort levels for all sorts of Earthly creatures. Though it is the most mysterious method, it is the most effective in several aspects. Unfortunately, unlike several other methods, it cannot be summoned at will._

Dumbledore finished the passage and sat back, contemplating what he had just read. It was exactly what he had been looking for. That explained why Dumbledore never felt any pain when Snitch beat him and why a Muggle boy named Keiko could participate in the vision as well.

Dumbledore copied the pages, replaced the books, and went back to his office to have a nap.

* * *


	29. A Family Betrayal

**Chapter 29: A Family Betrayal  
**_Dedicated to: YONAS!!_

Dumbledore's nose filled with the familiar and welcoming scent of wheat once again. He opened his eyes to be greeted with the Wheat-Field Reverie he had come to know with new-found knowledge.

A warm breeze brushed the tall wheat plants to the side, revealing the tiny body of a boy kneeling down and hunched over, his thin back facing Dumbledore. He recognized the raggedy clothes as that of Snitch.

Taking a step toward his little friend, Dumbledore's eye caught glimpse of another young one. This one was Snitch's friend, Keiko, who was looking toward Snitch with eyes of pity. Dumbledore glanced from Keiko to Snitch, then back again.

Something was wrong.

Snitch was silent, curled into a vertical fetal position on his toes. Keiko, though never one to talk much, didn't look frightened as he usually did--but sympathetic instead.

Dumbledore, deciding not to take his chances with the violent youth, took Keiko by the shoulder and shuffled him a distance away from Snitch so he could find out what was going on.

"Keiko-kun," he started, staring curiously at Snitch while Keiko kept his eyes sympathetic. "What's happened?"

Keiko turned to look at him questioningly, letting him know that he didn't understand the question.

"What is wrong?" Dumbledore rephrased.

"Oh," Keiko whispered. He paused to find his words. "His sister…uhhh…" he was at a loss as to how to explain what happened. So he mimed it as best he could: he took his fist and punched himself in the stomach, looking up at Dumbledore. Then he switched tactics and pretended to beat up an invisible person instead, throwing his soft fist into the pretend-person's body as viciously as he could.

Dumbledore patted his back lightly to let him know that he understood.

"His sister hit him?" he asked.

Presuming the word "hit" was what he was looking for, Keiko nodded, turning to look again at the younger child.

"How badly is he hurt?" Dumbledore asked. Keiko didn't understand. "Is he okay?" he reiterated.

"I don' know…" Keiko spoke with a heavy accent.

Silence descended, making even the comforting environment of the wheat field filled with a tense air of worry and confusion.

Dumbledore approached Snitch quietly, kneeling down to sit on his knees just behind him. He hesitated, before placing his withered old hand on the youth's skinny back. Snitch jerked roughly, his head snapping up to see Dumbledore's kind and caring face. The boy turned back around, shrugging off the hand and picking at the ground beneath him.

Dumbledore replaced his hand upon his back, and this time he did not shrug it off. Like a grandfather comforting his little grandson, Dumbledore rubbed comforting circles on the child's back, and soon Snitch had leaned into the crook of the old man's arm, sitting back, burying his head in the flowing robes and gripping the fabric with a tiny, calloused hand.

Dumbledore felt Snitch's body shaking with silent sobs and the tears soaking through the thick threads of his clothes. But he didn't let Snitch know, the boy had too much pride. He just held the child and let him have a good cry.

* * *

"Ya seen her yet?" Mac whispered to Mouse. 

Mouse shook his head, no.

"How long's it been?" Mac asked. Mouse shrugged. "Well, it's gotta been a few days…you think she's dead?" he sounded almost hopeful.

Mouse shrugged again.

Looking over at his friend, Snitch, who was staring blankly at a wall and holding his stomach in pain, Mac continued his whispering to Mouse.

"I hope she is," he said. He turned away from Snitch to look at Mouse instead. If he had been paying attention, he would have seen Snitch twitch slightly and turn his ear towards them… "Dat ain't cool what she did to Snitch…she don' like us no more, she broke da pact…we was s'posed to take care 'f each other, but now she's goin' round hittin' Snitch and it ain't right! I hope she does get killed!"

Mac was angry for what Zilly did to his little brother and best friend, but his anger paled in comparison to the boiling rage pulsing through Snitch's veins after overhearing him. He jumped up and put his face in front of Mac's nose, grabbing his shirt collar--uncannily like Zilly had done to him.

"Take--that--back!" he hissed dangerously.

"N-No!" Mac refused. Snitch tightened his grip.

"Do it!"

"NO!"

"WHY NOT?!" Snitch screamed, tears welling up.

"'Cuz, Snitch! It's true! What she did wasn' right, an' you know it! We all promised to stick t'gether, we fight _t'gether_, we eat _t'gether_…we're a fam'ly, and fam'lies don' hit each other! Dat's why Mouse had to run away from his fam'ly, they kept hittin' him!"

Mouse was silent, as was Keiko (who had learned from Dumbledore what the word "hit" meant).

"You sayin' Mouse's fam'ly don' deserve t'die too? Wasn' you the one we had to stop from killin' them when Mouse told'ya what happened?" Mac continued. Snitch interrupted.

"Wasn' you the one who helped stop me?" he said quietly. "You sayin' it ain't right t'kill two big grown-ups beatin' up a li'l kid, but it's okay fer Zilly t'get killed when she's just tryin' to help us?" his voice escalated with every word.

"How is beatin' the shit outta you _helpin' _us?" Mac countered, shoving Snitch away. "She ain' our fam'ly no more, Snitch!"

"YES SHE IS!" Snitch cried.

"Yer best off without 'er, Snitch…" Mac said softly. "Jus' get over it…she ain't comin' back, she don' like us no more. How're we s'posed t'be a fam'ly if we don' even like each other?"

Snitch turned around and threw himself against the wall, kicking and screaming at it with desperate tears running down his cheeks. Finally, he let his exhausted body slump to the floor and he silently cried himself to sleep.

Mouse moved forward and wrapped the warmest blanket they had around Snitch's slight form, before turning back around to comfort a shaking Keiko.

He couldn't even look Mac in the eye.

* * *

The next few weeks passed with no sign of Zilly, and soon it was mid-February. The worst of winter was behind them, but the danger had not passed. 

Mac, still angry with Zilly, refused to let Snitch search for her (though it didn't stop him from trying); while Mouse seemed to have forgiven her for the explosive temper she had shown towards Snitch.

Snitch hardly spoke of Zilly and had occupied his time by talking to Keiko, even managing to improve the boy's limited English. The new friend he had in Keiko gave him an opportunity to distract his worried mind from what had become of Zilly.

"What goes, '_Moooooooo' _?" Snitch asked Keiko while the boys rested in the House after a long, hard day. Keiko had had his third fight today, and Snitch was happy to see improvement in his survival skills.

"Uhhh…" Keiko thought. "Cow?"

Snitch nodded, smiling.

"Good job!" he picked up a broken animal cracker from the small pile beside him and through it at Keiko, who caught it in his mouth and chewed happily. Padfoot watched with hunger and jealousy in his eyes.

"Wan-chan!" Keiko laughed, seeing the direction of Padfoot's gaze.

"What?" Snitch probed curiously.

"Wan-chan wants the cracker!" Keiko answered, gesturing to the animal crackers.

Padfoot, already annoyed by the atrocious name the little Asian kid had chosen for him, was in no mood to humor the Lions. All he wanted was a cracker, they needn't tease him by flaunting it just out of his reach.

"Come 'n' get it, Wan-chan!" Snitch taunted, standing up and stretching his hand as high as it would go. Padfoot stood, staring at the cracker above him. Snitch giggled, but his amusement was cut short when Padfoot dove for the pile of crackers on the ground next to Snitch's foot.

Keiko laughed hysterically, falling back and staring at the ceiling while tears of joy slipped out. Snitch brought his arm back down to smack Padfoot on the nose, but the dog paid no mind--he just continued devouring the animal crackers.

"HEY!" Snitch shrieked, grabbing a fist-full of his fur and forcefully dragging him away from the goodies. Padfoot looked up at his godson with innocent eyes, drool and crumbs hanging from the hair around his mouth.

Mouse snickered behind his hand, joined by the boisterous laughter of Mac.

* * *

Zilly pulled the sleeves of the old sweater down over her hand, folding her arms tightly around herself. She shuffled hurriedly down the crowded sidewalk, keeping her head down. Finally, ducking into a familiar alleyway, she sank down against the wall and closed her eyes in fatigue. 

She had been all over the city since the fight with the Lions, sometimes she even accepted the hospitality of various homeless shelters. But she never stayed for long. She never felt welcome enough to stay more than just a night. She didn't fit in. She never fit in anywhere. She was always the only gang member. The only killer. The only thief, the only lonely teenager without a family, the only run-away, the only one who rejected the wonderful family she had for her own selfish needs.

Nobody wanted her. Nobody wanted a tramp. Nobody wanted a selfish, heartless girl who beat the snot out of her little brother…

Never being one to cry, Zilly found salty tears rolling down her cheeks countless times in the past month. She didn't even notice them as they trickled down now, but she could taste the saltiness as the drops soaked her chapped lips.

She missed them. Plain and simple, she was lost without them. She was constantly stressed and frazzled when she was with them, but they always managed to bring her comfort--knowing they were in this unforgiving world together, and they wouldn't leave each other.

But isn't that what she had just done? She had left those three boys--four, now that they had decided to keep Keiko--alone in the city, vulnerable and young. Only three of them knew how to fight, how could they hold up against a gang attack?

She had deserted her family, and there was no excuse except her own selfishness. She had left Mouse--who, at 14 years old, was the oldest after her--to take care of what she couldn't manage.

She was disgusted with herself. What would her brother, Gumbi, think of her? But she couldn't go back…they would never forgive her; and even if they did, she knew the pressure would get to be too much again…she would just betray them all over again, leaving them to fend for themselves and her to drift aimlessly throughout the city with no home or family to take comfort in.

She couldn't keep living like she was…she couldn't stand the feeling of loneliness, she couldn't stand knowing that she broke their pact and left them. But she couldn't stand the pressure.

She had come to a fork in the road. On one side, she could choose to go back to her family, beg their forgiveness, and spend the rest of her days selling her body to creepy old men so her brothers could have enough to eat. On the other side, she had the choice of wandering around the city, fending off hormone-driven male predators and begging for food from rich people while she stayed in random shelters.

Neither path was welcoming.

As she sat back against the icy brick wall, she contemplated any other possible roads she could take. Her desperation tore at her heart and destroyed her will-power…she couldn't do this. Either road she chose would lead to failure. She couldn't keep up with this life. It was just too much. She had reached her breaking point, and there was no turning back.

Failure on the streets meant death. There was no room for tired souls looking for peace. There was never a happy ending for life on the streets.

Reverting back to her prideful, 18-year-old self, she knew she couldn't just sit there on the wall and wait for death to claim her. She would claim it. She would have power over her life--one last time. She would grasp her own death and choose when she left this world.

But there was one last thing in this world she could fix… She sat straight up, thinking deeply. She had broken her promise and deserted her family, leaving them alone. Who was to say that she couldn't go back and make things better?

She wouldn't leave her precious family alone in this disturbing world. Not again. This time, she would take them with her.

* * *

Zilly stepped out of the convenience store, carrying a brown paper bag in her hand. She quickly counted her money, then made her way down the street to the fast-food restaurant, McDonald's. 

"I want five cheeseburgers," she demanded the young man behind the counter. "And hurry up!"

With her new mission, the rest of her short life now seemed like it held a purpose. There was a determined look on her face, and her old dangerous glint was back in her eyes. It was the old Zilly again, but this time there was a sinister shadow following her actions.

She retrieved the food and made her way down several streets before slipping into a familiar alleyway. There, she took out the food and the contents of the bag and did what she had to do.

It was for the best.

She stuffed what was left over back into the bag, shoving it in a pocket of her baggy pants. Then she continued on her way to the warehouse that had been her home for years.

It took a lot of courage for her to lift up the garbage bag that served as a window and slip quietly inside. As she did, the sounds of the city were drowned out by the sound of laughter from the other room. She glided gracefully down the hallway until she reached to door that was held up by one set of hinges.

She knocked.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was originally supposed to be longer and contain a few more scenes, but I decided I should go ahead and post this... Next chapter will be out sometime this week hopefully. No promises, because my best friend (Patriot Girl) has her new little brother coming home Thursday and I have to be nosey! Welcome home, Yonas! 


	30. Hell to Pay

**Chapter 30: Hell to Pay**  
_Dedicated To: Wizard Portus (link below and in my bio)_

The voices behind the door hushed. There was a scuttle of feet and the door opened just a crack…

"Yes?" someone whispered.

"Mac!" Zilly practically squealed, pushing the door further open.

"Zilly!" Mac screeched, and Zilly's pulse jumped, thinking he was happy to see her… but then he slammed the door in her face. "GO AWAY! WE DON'T WANNA SEE YOU!"

Her heart dropped into her stomach like an anchor.

"Mac! Please! Open the door!" she called, knocking steadily. "Please, Mac!"

"NO!" he replied angrily.

"Who is it?" came another voice.

"SNITCH!" Zilly screamed. "Snitch, it's me, Zilly! Please, open the door!"

"Zilly?!" Snitch exclaimed in disbelief. "Ya sure?" Zilly rolled her eyes.

"Of course I'm sure! C'mon, Snitch!"

"No, Snitch, don't!" Mac's voice cut in. There seemed to be a struggle behind the door while Snitch tried to reach his sister and Mac blocked him.

"MAAAC!" Snitch whined. "She's home! She's fin'ly home! LET HER IN!" he cried desperately. He had waited ages for his big sister to come home, and there she was…

"NO! THIS AIN'T HER HOME NO MORE!" Mac shouted back. There was a thud, followed by Snitch's voice--this time coming from the floor:

"Yes it is! It'll always be her home! Please let her in! Please!" he sounded as though he had a knot in his throat, and Zilly realized he must be quite upset…

"Snitch!" she yelled tearfully, knowing it would pull at the boy's heart enough for him to fight back against Mac and let her in. "Please…" she let her voice crack to add to the emotion.

"SHUT UP, ZILLY!" Mac bellowed. "YOU'RE NOT WANTED HERE!"

"I WANT HER HERE!" Snitch argued.

"Shut it, kid!" There was a short scuffle of feet again, followed by a yelp of pain from Snitch.

"Don't kick me!"

"Don't talk!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"BOYS!" Zilly reminded them of her presence.

There was suddenly a commotion of movement and voices from behind the door as Mac and Snitch battled. The doorknob jiggled several times, but the door did not budge. Zilly knew very well that she could easily knock the door down--it was only supported by a single set of hinges. But she knew it would be better if she let the boys fight it out…that way, Mac would be too busy being mad at Snitch for letting her in than he would be at her for coming back!

Finally, Snitch won. When he opened the door, Zilly saw Mac laying at the opposite side of the room with a bloody nose, a busted lip, and a quickly-forming black eye.

Ouch.

There was an awkward silence as everyone froze, staring at her. Then she pulled out the McDonald's bag and held it up like a prize.

"I got foooood!" she sang.

At the sight of his favorite food, Mac perked up considerably. He rushed across the room, pushing Snitch and Mouse out of the way.

"Gimme!" he snatched a cheeseburger from Zilly's hand and busied himself by inhaling the meal. The others stared blankly at him. "What?" he said with a full mouth. "Gotta make sure she ain't poisonin' you all…" he suggested.

Zilly's heart skipped a beat.

"Right, well, everyone…eat up!" she gave the others their share of food, even Keiko and Padfoot, before gobbling up hers as well. Padfoot hesitated, sniffing the burger…something wasn't right.

Zilly was looking at him strangely. He glared calculatingly back.

Something wasn't right.

"Snitch," Keiko whispered to his friend, who was busy with the complicated wrapper around his burger.

"What?" Snitch grunted, straining to get the wrapper off.

"Smell…" Keiko held his burger up to Snitch's nose, who graciously agreed…with an almighty whiff, Snitch looked as though he were in heaven…

Then he gagged.

"Gross!" he hissed. At first, his nose had been filled with the beautiful aroma of hot, melted cheese on a greasy burger…but then, he could smell something that didn't fit…it smelled like a moldy rain-gutter…_not_ how a fresh cheeseburger should smell.

Padfoot shuffled over silently, observing the food the boys were given.

Snitch pealed off a piece of the under-side of the bun and gently flicked his tongue on it…he could taste something metallic and sour…_not_ how a cheeseburger should taste.

"Kay-ko…" Snitch muttered quietly. "This ain't right…"

Silence fell as their eyes met and Padfoot's suspicion had been confirmed.

Zilly had poisoned the food.

Snitch's gaze snapped to Mac, who had already put two cheeseburgers into his stomach.

"MAC!" he screamed. Mac, who had been peering into the bag for more food, looked up in alarm and clutched the bag protectively to his chest.

"What?" he answered, eyes wide.

Zilly's attention had been drawn to the boys at Snitch's scream and she watched them closely, her eyes narrowed.

"Spit it out!" Snitch demanded, smacking Mac across his back. Mouse, sitting next to Mac, put down the food he had almost taken a bite out of.

"Wha--" Mac started.

"NOW!" Snitch bellowed. "SPIT IT OUT _NOW!_"

"Oi, why?" Mac inquired. Snitch glanced over to Zilly, who was now approaching them. Mouse glanced nervously at the closing space between them...he didn't want a confrontation from the girl who was already trying to kill them.

"It's poisoned!" Snitch whispered desperately, needing Mac to get rid of the food in his body before he confronted Zilly.

Mac laughed.

"HA! No it ain't…" he said in disbelief.

"Didn't it taste funny to you?" Snitch continued quickly. Zilly was halfway across the room now and Keiko now joined Mouse in his nervous glances.

"No, it didn't, it tasted jus'…fine…" Mac's voice trailed off as he remembered the strange taste the burgers had had as he bit into them. He had chosen to ignore it though, opting instead to enjoy having a full belly for once.

Snitch looked at him with wild eyes before glancing once again over his shoulder. Zilly was now just a few paces away and could hear everything that was being said. Mouse uncharacteristically started humming loudly to cover his brothers' voices and Keiko started singing an English nursery rhyme that Snitch had taught him.

"Spit it out!" Snitch insisted. Mac's eyes had a new look of recklessness in them.

"I cain't, I already ate 'em!" he cried.

"Then throw it all up!" Snitch hissed, tears of helplessness in his eyes.

Zilly pushed passed Mouse and Keiko and grabbed Snitch's shirt collar, which pulled tightly against his throat as she lifted him from the ground and stared him in the face.

"Is there a problem?" she asked in a deadly voice, her eyes daring him to say yes.

"I-I--" Snitch didn't know what to do. She had been away for a long time, she could have any weapon at all on her…and Snitch had learned the hard way that there are some weapons that are impossible to fight against.

His knee throbbed in reminder of the horrible event months ago that had left him with a permanent limp.

"Well?" Zilly ordered.

"Well, I--" Snitch didn't have a chance to spew a lie because Zilly dropped him with a scream of pain.

Padfoot clamped down on her arm and growled dangerously, sinking his teeth into her filthy skin.

"AHH!" Zilly screeched, attempting to push the animal away from her. "Help! Snitch, Mouse, someone help me!"

But the boys ignored her, busy putting their fingers down Mac's throat and trying to make his stomach regurgitate the poison.

"PLEASE!" she pleaded.

Padfoot's bite intensified, putting stress and tension on the weak bone beneath the flesh. There was a loud "_Crack!_" and Zilly grabbed her arm, breathless in agony as she felt the bone finally give out.

Keiko hurried over to Mac, Snitch, and Mouse, dragging the three boys away from the dangerous fight taking place just inches from where they sat. He looked at the situation helplessly.

Mac now had frightened tears running down his cheeks and Snitch was holding his friend's mouth open, staring down his throat without a clue as to what should be done. Mouse quickly threw the food in the corner and tossed a raggedy blanket over it before returning to help his brothers.

"Snitch!" Mac begged his little brother. "Please, Snitch…" he sobbed. "I don' wanna die…not like this…no…please!"

"I'm tryin', Mac, jus' shut up!" Snitch responded, tears filling his eyes as he saw his friend in such a predicament. Mouse could only sit and watch helplessly.

Mac kept quiet except for a stray sob every once in a while. The only sounds that filled the room were the sounds of Padfoot tearing apart Zilly--literally. Zilly was now just a bloody mess, begging for her life.

No one cared.

The Lions were surrounding their brother, not their traitor sister. Padfoot was protecting his godson's family--if anything dared to hurt them, there would be hell to pay.

And Zilly was paying the price.

"Mac, no," Snitch said, shaking his friend's head by his grip on the jaw. "No, start talking again, yer too quiet!"

Mac obliged, and he, Snitch, Keiko, and even Mouse spoke together for over an hour as the boys attempted to get the food out of him. They spoke of how he was feeling, how much he ate and how fast he ate it. Later, they spoke of normal things that happened in their every day lives. Their conversation became more casual but their situation became more desperate and hopeless with each passing minute.

Mac had worn himself out with his crying. His body trembled in left-over sobs and his cheeks were pasty with old tears. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Keiko had climbed behind him and wrapped his arms around Mac's torso. He put his hands together and thrust into Mac's stomach. At the same time, Snitch reached his finger to Mac's throat and practically grabbed at the back of his throat, enabling the gag reflex.

Mac's throat tightened up as his stomach pushed up a mess of food, poison, and acid up and out of his mouth. Snitch removed his finger just in time as Mac's body locked up and brought back the food he had consumed long ago.

It hit the ground with a sick, splattering sound for several seconds before the stream thinned and finally ended, leaving Mac weak and gasping for breath.

But nobody smiled. There was no relief. They were only left with an empty feeling as Mac laid his head back onto the ground and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion. Snitch knew it would be useless to keep Mac awake--the boy needed his rest if he was to have even a chance of recovery.

Snitch, Mouse, and Keiko cleaned up the mess in silence as their brother slept, not knowing if he would ever open his eyes again.

* * *

Meanwhile, Padfoot had chased Zilly from the warehouse and out onto the street where she collapsed in a bloody pile of rags, clutching her mangled arm to herself and asking the heavens for mercy. 

But Padfoot would show no mercy to the woman who had tried to kill his godson.

* * *

**A/N:** Long over-due chapter. If you've been wondering where I've been these past couple weeks (it's been Christmas break here and I really should have gotten a few chapters out), it's at this fantastic (and addicting) website for Harry Potter fans. It's like a virtual Hogwarts, it's really fun. 

www. wizardportus. co. nr OR www. wizportus. proboards74. com (Same Website.)

(Take out the spaces and type into the address bar. If you need to, put the http thing in front of it.) If you join, tell them that Mo sent you, then feel free to send me a message! )


	31. Rookie Ambitions

**A/N: ** I haven't updated because I'm busy. I'm updating now because I'm on break from school. End of excuses for this chapter. Enjoy.

Go to www. wizardportus. co. nr (take out spaces) for the best damn Harry Potter forum ever! (You can also go to www. wizportus. proboards74. com for the same site.)

* * *

**Chapter 31: Rookie Ambitions**  
_Dedicated To: Wizard Portus_

"Faint pulse…" a woman's voice was saying. "…eyelid twitching…"

"Morphine!" came a shout.

Zilly flinched._Please…_ she thought, _don't yell…_

"C'mon, hurry up! She's waking!"

_My head…_

"Can you hear me?" the woman's voice was penetrating her brain like a knife.

_Shut up…!_ she mentally begged.

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me!" the woman said, taking hold of Zilly's clammy hand. Zilly tried to squeeze it, she really did, but her fingers were just too heavy to flex. Her skin was too thick to bend. "No response!" the woman screamed over her shoulder.

Zilly flinched again, hearing the shrill voice cut through her peaceful solitude._Where's my knife?_ she thought, wanting to take care of the problem. But it didn't matter--she couldn't move anyway. Her body was weighing itself down. She couldn't feel herself breathing! She gagged…what was that in her throat?

"She's choking on the breathing tube!"

She couldn't comprehend the words flooding her ears. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't fight off these strange demons with shrieking voices that were floating around her! Salty tears leaked out from underneath her eyelids, but she kept her eyes firmly clamped shut. The tears burned the skin on her face.

More shouting. Some shouts mentioned her tears, others gave orders. A low, masculine voice spoke to her:

"It's okay…hospital…safe now, don't worry…" the soothing words lulled her back into the peaceful state of unconsciousness.

Officer Royle was a stocky man of medium height, with weathered skin, a wide nose, and a double-chin. His hairline was set back naturally from his broad forehead and his hair was a weak, thin flop of brown and gray.

Royle reviewed the interesting case with a furrow brow. It was unique, not to mention disturbing.

A savage dog had torn a poor girl to pieces. The girl--Zilly, as she called herself,--was clinging to life in the hospital at that very moment. She described the monster as a huge canine with yellow teeth and gray eyes. Scruffy black hair hung off the dog's limp body in mangled clumps, and patches of bald spots were sprinkled across its body (probably due to malnutrition, as she had said the dog was as thin as a skeleton). It had attacked her for no reason, she told him. She tried to fight it off, but it seemed determined to kill her.

Despite this horrid description coming from the mouth of a girl that was the same age as his own daughter, Royle felt disgraced to be put on the trail of a mere animal while there were real criminals out there; dangerous people who would kill you as soon as look at you. The other officers got those cases--but not Officer Royle. No, not the over-grown rookie. Not the man who hadn't received a raise in over ten years.

In all the years that London's Police and Law Enforcement Station had been open, there had never been a more useless police officer than Officer Jonathan Royle.

But he was determined to change that. As degrading as chasing after a vicious dog may be, it was his chance to move up the ladder and prove that he was worth a position on the force--and possibly even become a hero, as he had dreamed about since he was a little boy.

Royle knew that the task at hand would be difficult, however tedious. Even Animal Control didn't have any trained employees brave enough to handle this rabid, monstrous, half-starved dog. But he would get it done. He had no choice. It was this or his career.

After reviewing procedure once more, he picked up his equipment and headed out the door amidst the taunting jeers of his co-workers.

"Let 'im sleep…" Snitch whispered in a voice as quiet as a breath. Mouse nodded and Keiko gazed sadly at the sleeping boy as they watched over him.

It had been two days since Mac's terrifying poisoning, and the terror was far from over. Mac hadn't woken up since he had regurgitated the poison; the boys feared for his life with each passing second that his eyes remained closed.

Snitch, in particular, was in a state of extreme distress. His muscles were tense, his stomach coiled in a knot, and his eyes were bloodshot from staring worriedly at his brother. His greasy hair was plastered to his head in a combination of filth and perspiration--even in the midst of the winter cold. His little fingers, skeletal and calloused, nervously twisted his thin shirt as he held vigil faithfully over his brother, night and day.

Padfoot seemed to be the least worried over Mac. He was a child, yes, and he had enjoyed playing with him these past several weeks, but his concern was for his godson. The poor boy had already been through so much--lost so many--that he wondered how much more he could take. He prayed desperately for Mac to live, so Snitch--Harry, his precious little boy,--could be spared another tragedy. He knew the kid had already lived a difficult life, and he would continue to experience horrors nobody wanted to see if he didn't get out soon.

That got Padfoot thinking.

Maybe it was best that Snitch's friends left him. He had a golden heart, not yet a heart of stone due to the atrocities he had witnessed, he wouldn't leave his friends of his own accord. He would never abandon this sorry bunch that called themselves a 'family.' So maybe it was best that _they_ left _him_. It was a terrible thought to cross his mind, though he couldn't help but consider it.

It was painful to see such a rookie as Keiko become closer and closer to Snitch, when Padfoot knew that Keiko lacked the skills needed to survive on the streets; the kid could only be protected by Snitch for so long before he would get himself killed, and then Snitch would be devastated. The longer Keiko was around, the worse it would be for Snitch when he left.

And Mac's situation wasn't looking good, not good at all. Padfoot was surprised he had lasted this long, to be honest. A large amount of poison--rat poison, as Padfoot had suspected, judging from the color and scent--in such a little body that was already ravished with malnutrition and past-injuries would not do for a happy ending. It looked hopeless, yet Snitch still clung to hope like a lifeline. Padfoot yearned that it wasn't his lifeline; if it broke, Snitch would be cast into a hellish fire of grief and despair, and he wouldn't be able to stand watching his best friend's son lose his mind in anguish.

Mouse was an interesting case indeed. He was silent, with the exception of a few occasional whispered conversations with Snitch. He was a decent fighter, Padfoot had noted, but he was sick every other day. His body was a grand fighter of outside forces, but could barely manage to fight off a simple cold. In times of stress, his body was even less able to fight off disease, and Padfoot was worried of what was to become of the teenager. He was the leader of the pack of Lions, as he was the oldest--at about fourteen- or fifteen-years old--and it seemed to be an unspoken law that the oldest was the leader.

Padfoot imagined what it would be like for Snitch to lose his family, one member at a time. He couldn't decide what was worse for the boy: keeping his make-shift family and staying here, where danger lurked around every corner and with the almost-certainty of losing his good heart to the horrors of the word, or, rather, losing his family and moving to a safer place, where Sirius could be a proper godfather. He didn't know.

Either way, Snitch was set for a life of heartache.

Officer Royle traversed the street where Zilly had been found with a grimace of hopelessness on his face. As the rubber soles of his leather shoes padded across the broken asphalt and concrete, he sighed, absent-mindedly beating his club against his thigh while his eyes darted lazily from corner to corner, alley to alley, broken window to broken window. The situation was looking bleak.

He had expected to track down the animal with minimal difficulties, but it was proving to be much more problematic than he had originally planned. Animal Control had given him a few tips, one of which pointed out that the beast would probably stay within a block radius of the location of the attack, as it was starved and in poor health by Zilly's description. However, Royle had already covered at least a radius of four blocks and had yet to find hide nor hair of the creature.

Stopping at an ominous, dark stain on the pavement--quite possibly blood from Zilly's impressive injuries--, Royle let his club hang limply by his side as he put his thumb through his belt loop and let it droop lethargically. He whistled.

"Heeeere, doggy!" he called, whistling again. "C'mere, boy!" He hunched over and clapped his hands, peering around him expectantly. A lonely piece of trash scuttled across the baron street in the biting wind. He stood again, regaining his stiff posture, and stamped into a dark alley, using the brick wall before him to break the winter wind. He would much rather be at his desk, sipping from a cup of tea. His leather-clad feet kicked about as he attempted to warm his toes.

A loud crackling sound emitted from the ground and he looked down curiously to see what it was. He had kicked an old, plastic garbage back that covered a hole in the wall of the building that protected him from the unforgiving wind. The bag was secured to the top hinges of what was left of a basement window and held to the bottom by two large chunks of asphalt, acting as a sealant against the cold weather and deterring any creatures from getting inside.

Royle's heart leapt into his throat. If the people within this basement were hiding something, it could mean a big bust for him. When he came into the office tomorrow, he would be a hero for finding a cleverly hidden--and obviously much used, if the scuffs on the worn edges of the window frame were anything to go by--illegal drug laboratory. Quietly moving the asphalt pieces to the side and lifting the garbage bag, Royle dropped into the basement feet-first and took a look around.

He was in a deserted room. There were no signs of drugs anywhere, much less a sign of life. No drugs, no criminals. That meant an empty find. A worthless endeavor that had distracted his attention from the rabid dog he was sent to detain. Royle sighed again, but, not wanting to go back into the harsh weather outside, he decided to poke about in the underdepths of the building.

He exited the room through a threadbare door and strolled down the hallway. His heart returned to its perch in his throat as he came to a half-open door hanging on one set of hinges; he could hear something inside. He couldn't distinguish what it was, but it was definitely something. He swung the door open with his club in hand, preparing for chaos. What his eyes saw froze him more than the harshest of winter winds.


End file.
